Hidden Messages
by Tainted Tears
Summary: [INCOMPLETE] There is a strange, desolated boy in the school, outcast and unwanted by everyone. You won’t understand him when you look at him, but his eyes hold hidden messages that once you discover: will haunt you forever.
1. Unnoticed

**Title: **Hidden Messages

**Author: **Crystal Charmer

**Genre: **Drama/Angst

**Rating: **R

**Warnings: **Some violence, frequent strong language, some drug issues, some sexual issues, issues of abuse and self-harm

**Summary: **There is a strange, desolated boy in the school; outcast and unwanted by everyone. You won't understand him when you look at him, but his eyes hold hidden messages that once you discover: will haunt you forever.

**Disclaimer: **All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films. The female character belongs to Shooting Starlight but at the moment, however, is unnamed.

-oOo-

**Chapter 1 – Unnoticed **

Chatters and uproarious laughter echoed from the mint painted hallways and dispersed, often before they had a chance to be heard. Bitter curses and shouts ricocheted beyond the ceiling and directed themselves towards the teachers, who watched the speakers with their grey, robotic gaze.

"Watch your mouth, young man," was a phrase they often tossed around.

Of course it made no difference. But did anyone expect it to?

Wine-stained tissue rubbed angrily at the piercing cut on his cheek, biting his lip a little from the way it stung when he touched it: almost like nettles scraping against his flesh. He pulled it away and stared at it with a frustrated sigh.

_Fucking school._

He tossed it away into the corner of the cubicle, noticing it flop to the floor in a rosy pulp, and it vanished from sight. Shakily, he stood up, his feet barely holding him, and he somehow managed to make it to the bathroom mirror, surrounded by the architecture that was graffiti.

Slender fingers clenched the edge of the sink, almost for support to stop him falling down to the ground again. He stared into the centre of it, feeling dizzy.

_What the hell is wrong with **me?**_

Anxiety forced him to stare upwards at himself, his oceanic eyes staring back at him through the glass, almost scorning him as it offered him a good look. A good look at what he was.

A good look at Casey Connor.

He saw the bruising cut that lay like a scarlet trench across his cheekbone; alive and open and deep. His pale face that always carried a frown, the look of resentment – on a good day. Until then, it bore the fear that always crossed his mind whenever someone two feet taller than him came around the corner.

It was always the same routine for him every day. There wasn't any need for a schedule, or planners, to remind him of what was going to happen today. It was always the same.

He gazed directly into his own eyes, boring back at him through the sheet of glass. Cerulean waves of anguish and pain sprung back and drove themselves into him, penetrating every pore of his body. The words of others...the harm of their blows...it felt nothing compared to this.

Be suddenly felt dizzy again. However, he couldn't pull his gaze away from the hidden voice that seemed to be whirling in his head whenever he saw those eyes.

_You're pathetic. You're nobody._

_Look at yourself! You're a dismal wreck! You can't do **anything **right!_

_You should have died at birth. No one wants you. No one loves you. They all wish you were **dead!**_

_Everyone hates you! They know everything about you as soon as they look at you!_

"No, they don't," Casey growled.

_The loser, the class wuss, always wishing he was someone else! What else is there to know! _

Casey stared into the sink again, feeling tears of anger building up behind his pulsing lids.

_Just go ahead and kill yourself now. No one's gonna give a shit about you. They probably won't start looking for you straightaway – a couple of weeks and no one will even care! _

He felt cold all over.

_You don't have the **guts** to kill yourself, you little fuck! You're a coward! Go ahead then – stay here and suffer! Why stay here any longer? There's nothing here for you – just fucking kill yourself and be **happy **for once!_

He felt the ground spinning beneath him. He clutched the sink tighter and held on for dear life. He felt his stomach moving and he shot his head up to stare into the mirror again, his face as drawn as a white sheet. Small beads of iced perspiration clung to his forehead.

_Save yourself!_

He gasped for air.

_Escape from this hell!_

"Ugh..."

_**Run away! **_

"Ug...Jesus – !" he choked, feeling his stomach rise to his throat and strangling him. He quickly cupped his hand over his mouth and raced back into the cubicle, retching into it. The wave of nausea took a while to pass before he had finally emptied everything inside, and he sighed slowly.

"Shit," he muttered bitterly, reaching up and grasping hold of the handle with a trembling hand and tugging it. The sound of the flush echoed in his ears and pounded the drums mercilessly like a violent waterfall. He slumped back onto the damp floor and leaned his head back against the cubicle wall, effortless tears shimmering on his cheeks.

_Fucking pathetic. _

-oOo-

By the time he had wiped his mouth clean and he had managed to stop his hands from shaking, he left the bathroom cubicle and headed out, shutting the door behind him. He exhaled a deep breath as he glanced at his watch on his wrist; a couple of minutes left until his next class.

He closed his eyes. He had only been here for a few hours and already things were taking a turn for the worst.

_Let's hope it doesn't get any worse, _he thought to himself as he shrugged his back over his shoulder and continued his journey down the empty corridors and turned the corner, wanting to arrive early and save himself from the bombardment that would most likely happen at the slightest tingle of the bell.

"Ugh – " he gasped out as he felt someone's shoulder collide with his cheek.

_I guess these corridors weren't as empty as I thought they were._

"Hey!" a girl's voice responded callously, before Casey had a chance to apologise. "Watch where you're going, huh? Anyone would think you were blind!"

He stared at her, his face throbbing as he looked her up and down. She wasn't a very tall girl, although she was a few inches taller than him. She had short, russet coloured locks that hung down around her ears and the base of her neck, tickling the collar of her dark red shirt. Her bag was tossed over one shoulder and it hung at her hip, resting comfortably against the hip of her black, velvet trousers. Her chocolate irises blinked at him, and an eyebrow quirked.

"What, are you deaf as well?" she smirked.

Bitterly, Casey rubbed the sting from his cheek and glared at her, continuing on his way. "Sorry," he muttered.

He remembered her now. He had seen her a few times wandering the schools, although he had no idea who she was. Besides, this was the first time he had seen her alone. She always used to be mingling with a small group of friends, chatting away silently about things that no other human beings were supposed to hear.

Casey didn't care what they were talking about. He just walked on by as quickly as he could to avoid contact with them – or their remarks.

"Wait a minute!" he heard her call out to him seconds later, her tone sounding slightly suspicious. "Wait – I've seen you before!"

_Big fucking whoop. _

He ignored her, sighing deeply and tossing his strap higher onto his shoulder to prevent it from slipping. "I _said_ I was sorry," he replied, his words small and sour.

_Just ignore her. Ignore her, and she'll eventually go away. Keep walking. _

His trainers squeaked against the waxed floor as he neared the corner, picking up his pace to provide as much distance from that girl as possible. His gaze travelled to the doors of the classrooms, full of students who looked eager to leave as they sat there with their chins cupped in their palms. One boy had fallen asleep on his desk in the most uncomfortable position imaginable.

As he stared into the glass panes on the front of the doors, he almost stopped dead, as his eyes met with their reflection again: a mirror of ocean's glass that shattered and pierced his heart and his muscles, causing him to loose control of himself, and all he could see and hear was the torment and anguish of the thoughts hidden in those eyes:

_Pathetic little geek – can't do anything right!_

_Everyone makes fun of you! They laugh at you behind your back – they **want **you to suffer!_

_They don't care about you! They wish you were **dead! **_

"Whoa – !" he cried out as he felt his feet slip out from beneath him, finding himself falling backwards. He grasped for the corner of the wall to steady his legs, but he found them sprayed out on the ground before he could even think about it.

It was then that he heard her voice again. Apparently she had been trying to get his attention for a while now. "Hey, I tried to tell you, dumbass!" she shouted out to him, jogging over to his side with a roll of her eyes. "The floors just been waxed over here, the janitor left a warning, see? Can't you read?"

Casey snapped his eyes to the right. Sure enough, there was a stand there, just next to the slippery surfacing. It read: _Caution: Slippery floor._

_Figures, _Casey thought with irony.

"Oh. Right," he mumbled awkwardly, feeling more stupid by the second. He pressed his hands against the floor to hoist himself up, when he suddenly felt a sharp, electrifying ache shoot up and down his left wrist with astonishing speed. He halted his movements and grimaced.

"Ow!" he hissed, rolling it around in his other hand like an incised block of wood. "Dammit."

The girl noticed that he was in pain and she cocked her head to one side, clenching her teeth together uncomfortably. "Are you okay?" she asked him, her tone softer. She knelt down on one knee and stared into his blushing face.

Casey looked away. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Ooh," she proclaimed with anxiety, biting her lip with a look of agonised pity. "God, that looks painful."

His sight focused on his skinny wrist, where it seemed to be swelling by the second, turning scarlet as the bumped skin grew its blemish. He sighed and squeezed his eyes together as it pounded with a fresh wave of pain.

"What happened?" she asked him helpfully, reaching out gently to inspect it.

"I fell down," he replied, his eyelids still tightly shut.

He heard a scoff of amusement escape from her lips, followed by a small chuckle. "Well, duh," she answered, carefully taking hold of his pale skin in her soft fingers and supporting it lightly with a puzzled face. "Hmm."

Casey suddenly realised that she was so close her coffee coloured hair was tickling the crease of his elbow. She was so close he could smell her shampoo – it smelt oddly of strawberries. He gulped and made an attempt to shift away, his cheeks burning and his eyes suddenly becoming interested in his shoelaces.

He didn't usually like being this close to someone he'd never met before. Especially if that 'someone' was a girl. He felt ridiculous for some reason.

"It looks like it's sprained," she finally told him, her tone carrying a hint of concern. She took hold of his good arm and tried to drag him to his feet. "Come on," she said kindly. "I'll take you to the nurse – "

"N-no, it's okay," stammered the humiliated boy, struggling to stand up carefully, as sometimes the soles of his trainers danced on the wax again. He clung onto the mint-coloured wall for support, turning his face into it so she couldn't see the crimson blots on his cheekbones. "It will...be fine – it doesn't even hurt."

She sighed in exasperation. "Oh, don't be stupid! You've sprained your wrist – it's swollen up like an airbag, for fuck's sake! If it gets any bigger your arm will explode! You've gotta get some ice on it – !"

"I don't need any ice," choked Casey, dropping to his knees and unzipping his bag, yanking out his jacket which played a fun game with its owner as it tangled its arms in the strap for a while.

She folded her arms. "God, you're one stubborn bastard," she muttered venomously, taking hold of his arm once again. "But I'm not gonna jet off to class unless I know it's been looked at."

"Get off me," Casey droned quietly, flinging his jacket over his shoulders and slipping his arms into it, successfully hiding the swollen bump that was now his new left wrist.

"Jesus Christ – " she started, grabbing a handful of the navy blue material; but what happened next shocked her.

Casey tugged himself away from her snatching fingers and backed away, his eyes flaring up with a strange, poisonous look, one that couldn't be described merely by gazing at it. It was a mixture of pain and horror and misery, along with some of the darkest thoughts imaginable tossed in as well.

The girl blinked in surprise, her hand ready to reach out, but it seemed to be paralyzed – held up in the air by the amount of amazement that had just kicked her in the stomach. "Err..." she began stupidly.

"I said, leave me alone," he whispered bitterly, small droplets of warm tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

A strong sense of pity immediately warmed inside of her at the sound of the clogged, despaired tone in his voice. "Hey, look – " she started to say, but was cut off when the bell suddenly sounded menacingly around the school buildings, and the scraping of chairs filled their ears, like the sound of a million droning hummingbirds.

He jumped slightly at the sound of it. "I've gotta get to class...now," Casey warbled out, breaking his eye contact with her and pushing through the small space between them for a chance of escape. He didn't want to be stampeded by a mountain of chattering, violent students.

But she still couldn't loose the image of the anguish in those eyes as he had glared at her, even if he had just disappeared down the halls, and there wasn't really a chance that she would see him again. She knew that she would be haunted by that look forever.

_So much pain, _she thought to herself. _Who could have caused that? _

As she remembered the look, she almost thought that it had been hiding hidden messages; messages that now appeared in her head when she pictured the clear blue of that boy's eyes:

_Don't look at me!_

_Turn your head away, don't look at me. I'm pathetic...I'm **nobody**..._

_Leave me alone...don't touch me..._

_Don't look at me..._


	2. Ignored

**Disclaimer: **All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films.

-oOo-

**Chapter 2 – Ignored**

Casey squirmed in his seat as he chewed on his lip, fighting to send the pain from his wrist away. It had only been a few minutes ago, but the strange, twisted feeling that was lodged in his fingers just wouldn't go away.

Clenching the edge of his desk with trembling fingers, he gently flexed his fingers together into a fist; all the while it felt as if a vice were crushing it from both sides. Through squinted lids and fixed teeth, he looked down at his arm, and saw the pink skin had grown tender and sore, and a small ringed bruise encircled his hand.

"Shit," he cursed silently, removing his watch from his tightened skin. He pulled the sleeve of his sweater down over the blemish to avoid it being seen by anyone. He concentrated hard to focus on anything else but the pain.

Muttered whispers reached his ears and he looked up towards the doorway. Delilah Profitt had just swayed in, her silky, ebony hair tossed neatly over her shoulders and her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the edge of her cellphone. A few of her little friends followed in her shadow, giggling and murmuring to themselves.

Casey didn't realise he was staring at her until her eyes met his.

_Crap, _he scolded to himself, quickly darting his gaze away back at the top of the table again. _Don't look at her, dammit. Don't look at her..._

_She's not interested in you. I mean, **look **at you! You're a dismal little worm who blushes every time a girl smiles at him! _

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out his insulting conscience from his own insecurity. His wrist gave another throb of pain and he hissed through his teeth, gripping it tightly with his other hand, his toes curling in his sneakers.

"Fuck," he groaned.

He needed to take his mind off of it. It was starting to become all he could think about. For distraction, he scooped up his bag and began rummaging through it with one hand, leaning down towards the floor without leaving his seat. His fingertips groped the zippers on his bag for a pen.

"Oops!" spat a husky voice sarcastically, as a trainer shot out swiftly and kicked away at Casey's bag, knocking it over to the floor and sending his books to avalanche out of it with a _thud. _

The class dissolved into giggles and spiteful sneers.

Casey gazed up, his blue eyes filled with the sombre of the situation, his fingers still reaching out blindly for his invisible sack. His vision blurred and finally formed into the disappointing figure of Gabe Santora, his dark eyes gleaming spitefully.

"Ooh, sorry," he shrugged, with a mocking grin splaying across his handsome face. "Naturally clumsy, man. You should watch where you put your bag." He lapped up the attention he was getting from the rest of the class; the chuckling seemed to encourage him even more.

Casey frowned. _Bastard. _

At least, that's what he _wanted _to say. But like all of the other times he had wanted to retort back to his tormentors, he found that something held him back from it, and he wound up doing exactly the same thing that Gabe and the other students were expecting him to do:

"S-sorry," he croaked out, getting to his knees and making a start on scooping up his books and papers that were splayed on the floor. "My fault." He grabbed his bag and began stuffing the contents back into it as quickly as he could, wanting to return to his seat before anything else happened.

"What a geek," he heard a girl whisper across the desk.

He couldn't help but let his sight wander onto who had just said those painful words – words that inflicted more harm than bruises or razors ever could – and found himself once more looking into the beautiful, exotic features of _her. _Her dark hair shaped her expression that was clouded over with a distasteful smirk.

Casey's heart sank down to the soles of his shoes. _Delilah..._

"Argh!" he gasped out, suddenly reminded of the pressure he was inflicting onto his damaged wrist. It seemed to break him out of his trance and he scurried back to his seat, his face burning like a hot coal.

_Who cares? Screw her. You don't need her. She's nothing to you._

His fingertips throbbed in unison with his heartbeat as the pain grew. He pulled his sweat sleeve further down his arm and wrapped it around his hand; perhaps to block out the fact that there was actually something to get worried about. He flinched at the sound of the mocking laughter ringing behind him.

_Just go to the nurse, you little prick. You've hurt yourself – **tell **someone about it! Sitting here **wishing **for it to go away isn't gonna do shit. _

The boy continued to ignore his coincidence, cupping his forehead into the palm of his good hand and groaning. "Oh, God..."

At that point, the door creakingly hinged itself open and the giggling hushed.

"Right. Okay, class," droned John Tate, their History teacher, in his usually lazy, bored voice. "Let's get down to it...although I don't see much point." He picked up the coffee mug on his side-desk and took a long swig from it.

Some of the students rolled their eyes and winked at each other as they watched the man drinking. A few of them even whirled around in their seats and stared at Delilah with knowing looks.

Everyone knew what Mr Tate was _really _drinking with his black coffee. Dedicated to her position as editor-in-chief for the school paper, Delilah had secretly exposed the teacher's love of alcohol in black and white for the whole of Herrington High to hear about, after a kick root-around in the faculty office a few weeks ago.

Ever since then, whenever the History teacher took a break from talking to take a sip of his brew, the class knew the truth. They knew he had a problem with the occasional beer or two and he couldn't even contain himself for school time, when he had to be focused and give the pupils his full attention.

Casey noticed that he seemed to be broody most of the time, but he couldn't really work out why. Perhaps that was a reason for his desire of alcohol.

_He always seems so depressed, _Casey pondered with concern. _I wonder what's wrong with him?_

_Oh, and it's not like **you're **depressed, you little worm. _His wrist screamed with agony at the sound of his self-hatred.

"Ow!" Casey hissed, his other hand reaching out in a bad reflex reaction, seizing it tightly and setting his jaw. He hadn't made it to be as loud as it had came out to be. He felt the class's entire gaze bore into him, including the teacher's.

"Mr Connor?" Tate sighed, setting his mug down. "Do you have something you want to share with us?"

"N-no, sir," Casey muttered, his tone tingling with the sparks of a new flash of pain being set in. "No...I'm fine."

_Liar._

Mr Tate raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation before landing them back onto the fidgeting teenager again. They held a look of ironic disbelief. "You're looking pale, Mr Connor," he pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "If there's something troubling you, perhaps you'd be better seeing the nurse – "

"N-no," Casey broke in, feeling his body grow hot. "No...I don't need – "

"I'll write you a hall pass," continued the sullen teacher, reaching awkwardly behind to rummage through his drawer for a pen. The rest of the class couldn't wipe the smirks off their faces and some of them were spitting crude comments about the boy behind reach of his hearing.

"But...but, sir," protested Casey weakly, flushing with embarrassment. "I'm fine – I...I don't – "

"Take this and go down to Nurse Harper's office, Mr Connor," interrupted the History teacher briskly, shoving it underneath his nose without even listening to what he had to say. "Tell her you've been excused and you need seeing to."

"But I _don't_!" whined Casey. "I'm _okay_!"

Some of the students by now were finding it hard to contain themselves.

"No excuses, Mr Connor," replied the teacher in irritation. "Just go before I drag you down there myself."

"But...but, I – _sir – _!"

"You're trying my patience, Mr Connor."

"Sir – "

In was then that Mr Tate leaned in horribly close, homing in on the young boy's drawn face and glaring flame into his blue eyes. "I'm warning you, now," he whispered, his voice oily and threatening at the same time. "I'm not a happy, singing little lark this morning. I don't want to be here anymore than _you _do. I've got my own problems too. Now get your weedy little ass to the nurse before I fry it in detention 'till you graduate."

Casey blinked. It was very unlike Mr Tate to pull a burst of steam out into the open, especially out in front of a lesson, no matter how serene it had been. He was always so tied up about himself and his feelings, and as long as he stayed like that, he was content. For a moment, Casey was lost for words, and simply stared at him.

It was only when his wrist bellowed agony at him then he found himself crashing back into hell. "Y...yes, sir." He stammered in a whisper, attempting to get to his feet clumsily and taking the note from him, never letting his eyes stray from those that were glaring.

-oOo-

"Why? Dammit – _whyyy...?_"

He stared down at the pass in his hand bitterly as he rested his head against the hard wall, staring up at the ceiling. So here he was; outside Nurse Harper's office...why was he here? He had told himself that he didn't want to come, but yet his feet had unwillingly found their way.

_Should I go in? I mean..._

He stared down at his battered and bruised wrist. The swelling had increased, causing it to look like an inflated balloon. He pulled the sleeve down over it again and breathed through the pain. He was almost starting to get used to it by now.

_You're such a wuss, _he thought to himself, this time, his own thoughts. _Why the hell don't you see the nurse? It's not gonna go away by itself, you moron. _

Casey sighed, gazing at the floor below, the wax gleaming under the lights and his reflection shining back at him. Striking him hard in the gut as he stared into the mirrored eyes he remembered –

"Ugh!" he choked out, forcing himself to look away. No! He didn't want to look into those eyes again, and see all of that pain...that hatred..._No_! It couldn't be allowed...!

"Hello?"

He jumped a little and spun around at the calm, inquiring voice of Nurse Rosa Harper, her brown eyes narrowed in confusion at the sight of him standing there looking clueless. Her long, dark hair was tied back firmly. It matched her stare.

"E – erm..." the boy croaked, pulling the sleeve over his wrist quickly before she could see it. "I...I was just, erm – "

But at these words she rolled her eyes around in exasperation. "Oh, it's _you _again, Mr Connor," she almost groaned. "What is it _this _time? Headache? Twitching? Rashy skin?" Casey didn't like the bored tone in her words.

"No," he muttered in embarrassment, starting to turn around, walking back the way he had come from. "J – just forget it, Nurse Harper...I'm okay."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, young man!" she scolded sharply in her Spanish accent. "You're obviously here for a reason. And if you're _not..._" her lips pursed a little, as if she had been sucking a lemon, and her eyes suddenly grew rather dangerous. "...Then what are you doing out of class?"

Casey swallowed. "I – I have a hall pass – "

"Let me see it," she demanded, holding out her hand.

He fumbled with the slip in his hand and handed it to her, all the while feeling as if his ears were about ready to burst into flame. He bit his lip and stared at the floor as she read over the excuse slip that Mr Tate had written for him.

She frowned. "Why do you need seeing to?" she asked him, looking puzzled.

Casey shrugged, refusing to pry his eyes away from the enticing floor.

Nurse Harper gave him a long, steely glare; the type of glare when you are certain that someone is giving you one without having to look at them. Casey gulped back his words and winced as another small dart of pain cut his wrist.

She sighed in annoyance and reached out for his arm, an almost forceful gleam in her eyes. "Well, Mr Tate must have sent you here for a _reason,_" she muttered rationally. The expression on her face clearly told the teenager that she must be right and that things were going to go her way.

_But...I don't **want **to get seen to! _thought Casey frantically. _I just want to get back to class; I don't want to go home!_

"N – no, Nurse Harper..." he pleaded as she grappled at his sleeve. However, it seemed to fall on deaf ears. "No, please...! I – _argh_!" His cry escaped him as he felt the nurse's claw-like fingers scrape at his wrist and tightened around it. White-hot pain, like lightning, flashed up and down the limb and he screamed, backing away from her.

She blinked in surprise. "Wha...? Let me see that," she requested, her words a little gentler this time. Her hand reached out again but the lad jerked it away.

"No! No...don't touch..."

"I just want to have a look. Let me see now..." she murmured, as if she were speaking to a young child with a grazed knee. She carefully supported his swollen arm and peeled back the material of his sweater.

Casey clenched his teeth against his gasp of anguish. "Ow..."

"Oh...Jesus," she gasped, shaking her head from side to side, carrying a look of concern. Her sharp eyes inspected the bruised, swollen lump that was hanging from the boy's elbow. It didn't really look too much like an arm anymore; instead it was a deformed mess of what it had been.

Casey looked away.

"It looks like it's sprained," she finally pointed out, a sense of sternness ringing behind her words.

_No shit._

She lowered his arm back to his side and drifted _that glare _along in his direction once again. The look on her face told Casey that she was _not _happy. The sound of her disappointed sigh drifted along as the only sound surrounding them.

"When did this happen?"

Casey felt very small. He wanted to say...but when he thought of the reaction it would receive he attached his eyes to the walls and would not remove them. He felt tiny droplets of tears build up behind his eyes again.

_Oh, that's right. Go ahead and cry. Like you can do anything else. _

"Mr Connor?" The stern voice had returned.

He stumbled over the words, trying to insert them into place as best as he could. "This...this morning," he squeaked.

There was a silent pause. For a few seconds it was broken by a gust of exhaled wind from the nurse: it was another one of her belated, mixed-up sighs that Casey was certain they were reserved for him and him alone.

The silence was finally broken after what seemed like forever. "So, you're telling me," she started, wanting to get every word exactly correct. "That your wrist has been in this condition since you got to school this morning...and you didn't tell me of it?"

Casey chewed on his lower lip and yanked the sleeve over his arm, once again concealing it from the world. "Y – yes," he whispered. "That's right."

Another long pause. Casey had never felt more uncomfortable in front of a teacher in a long time. He knew that he had been stupid by not going to the nurse. But at what cause? He was afraid that she would despise him, groan or bash her forehead against the door at seeing him again. He had had visits to her more times in one semester than all of his class had put together for a year.

_I guess I'm afraid of what she'll say. _

"Well," she finally said, her voice dry and a little closed off. "I don't know what else I can say; except that you have been very stupid."

Casey sighed. "I know."

"You really should be a little more concerned about your health, Mr Connor. No one else is going to wander in your shadow every day, just in case you fall over and hurt yourself."

"I know."

"You should not have been worried about coming to see me. It wasn't going to get better on its own! What exactly were you thinking?"

He shrugged, closing his eyes blearily. "I – I don't know."

"I'm a nurse, Casey. I'm here for a reason."

"I know."

There was another long silence. Nurse Harper stared at the mysterious, pain-staked little boy in front of her, and looked him up and down; from his brushed back chestnut hair to the untied sneakers he dragged upon his feet. He suddenly reminded her of a child: so innocent and pure to the world, who had no recollection of pain or fear or sadness.

She tried to place her words carefully. "Is there something going on, Casey?"

He darted his head up. All at once, his eyes flashed with terror. "What?"

She bit her lip, her mahogany eyes wanting to be anywhere but here right now. She knew all about the bullying he often suffered from the rest of the students in school, and the number of injuries he had to have inspected before he could pick himself back up again. She cocked her head onto one side with an expression full of sympathy as she ran her gaze over his surface.

_Pity, more like. She feels sorry for you because you're so fucking **pathetic. **_

He blinked, the tears wanting to make a comeback.

"Did someone do this to you?" There. She had said it.

He swallowed hard. Unwillingly, his voice came out very shaky and wobbly. He sounded as if he were on the verge of a breakdown and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pull himself away. It had him now. It was too late.

"No," he whispered.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, feeling a small tear roll down the side of his cheek. "Yes." He hoped that she hadn't seen it.

Not one more word was spoken. For now, Casey admitted defeat and allowed the nurse to take him into her first-aid room, to bandage him up once again and be as good as new. To take away the pain and to snap him back into place.

Only, in this case, it would take a lot more than mending a bruised arm to help the young boy.


	3. Injured

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films. The character Grace belongs to Shooting Starlight.

-oOo-

**Chapter 3 – Injured**

"Now...there. It doesn't seem to be as bad as it looks, Mr Connor," informed Nurse Harper, placing the roll of gauze back onto the shiny, first-aid counter. "It is a good thing that I found you when I did. Otherwise it could have been a lot worse." She gave him a long, hard look.

Casey kept his eyes on the floor. "Yeah."

There was another painful silence. The only sounds in the room were the occasional, haunting _hum _of the ward lights and the hollow ticking of the clock on the wall.

"Keep pressure of this wrist, okay?" the nurse told him, this time, in a cheerful, but forced voice. "It's a good thing you're right-handed, or else you'd be in heaps of trouble." The sudden monstrous _rip _of Velcro sent echoes through the boy's ears.

He flinched a little in surprise and stared at the handful of brown straps in her hand.

"What's that?" she asked quickly.

She breathed a laugh. "Oh, don't worry," she said reassuringly, placing it atop his damaged wrist, gently turning it over to connect the entwining fingers of the support hold. "It will hold your arm steady, so you don't bend it as much."

Casey stared at the new support holding his wrist straight. The cream-coloured gauze shone through the leather, highlighting his arm and camouflaging it with the walls. He sighed. It looked like a giant, treacle hand was enclosing around his: tightening it without any chance of escape. It throbbed.

He sighed, swinging his feet lamely from the chair. "Thanks," he mumbled, his voice injured.

She stared at him again, trying to look inside of this young boy's soul. She wanted to see all of the scars...the _pain..._everything that made him what that he was in front of her: someone who had endured enough, and was left stranded whilst the others trampled over him and kicked dust in his eyes.

"Casey?"

"Hmm?"

A reaction that she didn't want from him. She wanted him to stare up at her, with those broken eyes so she could understand why he hurt so much. She didn't know what that she could do for him. Not even a nurse could treat someone like this and make it all better.

Instead, she did the only thing that she could think of. She smiled; weakly. "Just be careful in future, okay?" she told him with a small nod of her head.

Casey looked at the wall. He _wanted_ to grin back at her. He _wanted_ to chuckle and joke about how clumsy that he'd been, and what an idiot he must have looked sprawled out on the floor like that. Instead, a wave of despair swept over him at the mere thought of his humiliation, and he closed his lids against it.

"Yeah. Sure."

-oOo-

The bell rang furiously for the lunch break; unfortunately a lot quicker than Casey had hoped it would. He detested this time of the day, pretty much because of the fact that he wasn't _safe. _There wasn't a teacher standing in front of him with eagle-like eyes: ready to pounce on any prey that seemed to be causing bother.

It was almost as if the leashes had been cut to set the bloodthirsty dogs on him. As far as they were all concerned, he was an easy target. He would not surrender, and they enjoyed that.

It made it all the more interesting.

He had discovered whilst he had been here that the best place to hide during lunch was on the bleachers outside the football field. He couldn't sit anywhere in the cafeteria without spaghetti being "accidentally" dumped into his hair, and the last time he had tried to eat outside in the quad, he had almost lost a chunk of his brain when the football players enjoyed using the side of his head as a target to bounce their ball off.

No, he was safe on the bleachers. He was all alone there. And when he was all alone, no one could hurt him.

He munched on his sandwich and stared out beyond the iron gate that surrounded the walls of the school. A small _twang _of sadness hit his heart like a racket to a ball as his eyes lay on the fields...far off into the distance. How he wished that he could be on those hills right now, where he didn't have to worry about pain, or people, or life.

There would just be him. He would be free.

But then the foreboding mood of darkness smothered this dream and filled it with bitter reality as he caught sight of the gates again, and a deep, terrible feeling plummeted into the bottom of his stomach. No, he was trapped here. Trapped like a lab experiment. With no hope of freedom.

_It's not fair. _

"Hey...hey, _you_!" came a familiar cry, shouting out to him. A girl's voice. "It's you again – _Hey! Look at me_!"

To Casey it sounded like a demon spawn that had just been catapulted from Hell to torment him for the rest of the week.

_Stupid bitch – just leave me the fuck alone! _

In a flash he scrambled to his feet, clutching his brown lunch bag in one hand, a frustrated expression on his face. He danced and stumbled through the bleacher seats, going as fast as he could. He would be able to run faster on the green turf.

"Don't run away, you little shit! I'm not gonna do anything – I_ just wanna **talk **to you, dammit_!"

_Well, I don't wanna talk to you! _Casey heard, his head screaming. _I just want to be alone – without anyone bothering me! Why can't people **see **that! _

He manoeuvred around the seats, attempting to keep his eyes on the road ahead whilst putting some distance between him and the girl. The only problem was her voice kept getting louder and closer every second. She was gaining on him and there was no chance of stopping her.

_Shit, she's fast! _

"Get back here!"

He turned back, fury alight in his features. "Go away!"

"Wha – ? I'm just trying to talk to you – _don't _you fucking tell me to – !"

_Wham! _His foot collided into the top of the bleacher in front and his arms snatched free, empty air. Panic rose into his chest as his whole body fell forward, careering down through the seats in a ball of arms, legs and bruises. His fingers attempted to grasp any sort of hold but were unsuccessful. They were jerked backwards onto his knuckles and he yelped in pain.

The girl stopped dead at the sound of the crashes, her brown eyes alight with horror. The dull _thud _as the body hit the floor almost made her scream. She covered her mouth with her palms.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered, forcing her legs to move down the stairs towards the turf below; she found it difficult as her knees were trembling. "Jesus H. Christ – _fuck_!"

Casey groaned. The damp, prickly touch of grass kissed his ear and he opened his eyes blearily, feeling pain striking every limb of his body. Bruising kisses scraped at his joints and accompanied his spinning head. There was a coppery taste in his mouth: blood. He clenched his teeth and tried to get up, but he couldn't move. His lungs felt as if they had burst: he couldn't breathe.

"Shit! Oh, God! Are you _okay_!"

_Her again. _He frowned to himself at the sound of her voice. _Bitch. _

Her voice sounded as if it was on the verge of tears. "Oh, crap – I'm so_ sorry_!" she whimpered, scrambling to his side and taking his grazed elbow in her hands. "I really _am_...here, let me help you – !"

"N-no..." Casey wheezed, all of the breath gone from his body. "I...I'm...fi – "

She clicked her tongue nosily, her tone frustrated. "Like _hell _you're fine!" she snapped, slipping her arm under his to allow him to sit upright, although he didn't seem to negotiate. "You just fell all the way down those bleachers!"

"I..._know_..." he growled.

"I've got to take you to the nurse," she panted, inspecting his injuries with concerned eyes. She brushed a few locks of short chocolate hair out of her eyes, and they fell over his sprained wrist from before.

"Oh..._shit,_" she cringed. She set her jaw at the grisly sight, and her hands flew immediately to her teeth where she began to feast on her nails.

It was then that Casey felt the pain of it. The numb feeling had disappeared, and in its place came anguish. Burning, blinding agony seized his eyes and brought tears to them. He turned his drowning sight towards his battered wrist: but the sight caused his heart to fall into his shoes again.

"Ugh..."

It was beyond any point of repair. The angle it was bent to was not even one that had been studied in geometry. It just didn't look real. Blood ran down it and into the crook of his elbow, filling it with deep, crimson wine. He swallowed at the sight of the snapped bone sprouting through the purple skin. The leather cast lay tattered in between the debris.

"God," the girl gasped, unable to take her eyes away from it. "You've broken it."

_**I've **broken it! _Casey thought, furious. _She was the one who chased me down here! If anyone's fucking broken it, it's **her! **_

A fuming rage emerged itself in his brow, the weight of it bringing it down. His other hand clenched itself into a fist; the chipped, bloody knuckles dripping down his scraped skin. His leg throbbed in pain beneath him as he tried to stand on his aching feet.

"What the hell are you doing!" she exclaimed, her shocked eyes staring at his struggling limbs. "Don't try and get up – I'll go and get help – "

"No."

The coldness in his voice forced her to stop. She stood there, blinking at him and gaping at his cut cheeks and his black eye. His nose was also bleeding and was trickling onto his swollen lip. He looked as if he had been in an all – week boxing match, and it was just about to get even worse.

She swallowed, her eyebrows narrowing. "W-what?"

"Stop...following me," he hissed, wincing at the pain that was stabbing him in the eyeball. "Just leave me alone."

She stared at him, noticing the pain and fear filling up in his cerulean eyes again; only this time, blemishes of frustration and hate were swirled together in the ocean mix, giving her an icy feeling in her stomach.

"I'm just trying to help you," she said kindly, her fingers reaching out for his broken wrist. However, he backed off; hot tears of fury escaping down his sliced cheeks.

"Don't you get it?" he questioned venomously, cradling his wounds in his sweater, concealing his exposed bone in his sleeve. "I don't want you to be around me. I just want to be alone...every time I've seen you I always end up getting hurt." He felt a tinted blush surround his cheekbones.

"That's not _my _fucking fault!" she practically screamed, tears of her own beginning to form.

"Just stay away from me," he snarled grimly, whirling on his blistered heel and limping his way off the football field. Every step caused him to twitch with pain, and he eventually couldn't go any further. It felt as if he was walking on nails. His knees buckled and he stopped himself before he found himself sprawled on the grass again.

She felt her blood boiling furiously in her veins. Her breaths came out viciously in short, ragged pants at the sight of him trudging away ridiculously across the field. He didn't even want to go to the nurse – and his wrist was _broken_! It was so stupid!

"You..._you..._" she growled, her teeth grinding against each other as a small gust of wind caused her dark hair to flutter around her face. "YOU PATHETIC LITTLE _SHIT_!"

Casey halted and twisted his neck to stare at her, a confused, tortured expression pasted onto his face. Blood oozed from his lips.

There almost seemed to be an angelic power rising and rippling through the girl. It surrounded her body and rose into her eyes, giving them authority and new meaning. Her chest was heaving with anger and her fists were clenched firmly at her hips. Her hair blew across her eyes.

"You don't understand _shit_, do you?" she spat, her voice breaking with livid tears. "You waltz around, like some fucking _victim_, expecting others to feel sorry for you, when really, they just _laugh _at you! They _laugh, _dammit – don't you know that _yet_!"

Casey stared.

"I've been there, okay?" she whispered, a sudden seriousness striking her voice. Her dark eyes squinted, bringing a mysterious aura to her face. "I know what it's like. I know what it's like to be laughed at. They used to laugh at me all the time – I _know _what it feels like to be alone! I know how it feels...when someone hurts you."

There was a long silence. Casey opened his mouth to speak, but could find no words. Instead, the girl looked at him.

"I know what it feels like to hate life."

_How does she know all of this? How does she know...how I feel? _

Casey wanted to accept what she was saying, but he found that he just _couldn't. _How did he know that she wasn't telling the truth? She might just be saying this to make him feel better about the whole thing. But did _she _have a broken wrist right now? Was _she _bullied every day at school, where people shoved you about like you were invisible? Did _she _get treated like scum when she went home to her parents?

_**I **know what it feels like to hate life, _Casey told himself firmly. _Not her. She doesn't have a clue. _

"The _fuck _you do," Casey whispered spitefully, his head lightening with his increasing temper. "I see you all the time. You're always surrounded by friends – you're always so _happy_ – "

"I've _learnt _to be fucking happy!" she shouted tearfully. "That's what you have to _do_, sometimes! You can either lie there in the dirt and let them walk all over you...or you can Goddamn _get up _and learn to deal with it!"

Casey looked away, a fresh tear stinging his flesh. "I...I can't help it," he fumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm just...used to it."

She scoffed. "Oh, don't give me that bullshit – "

"It's _true_!" he protested, cutting in and wincing as his broken wrist tingled and throbbed. "I've been used to this my whole _fucking _life! Ever since I first started all of this school shit – it's all been the same!"

She rolled her eyes, tapping a finger on the edge of her arm before bringing her pretty features into a sneer. "They can see right through you," she breathed mysteriously, staring directly into his face. "One look at you, and they know you're weak. You're _weak_, you know that? You have to learn to get stronger."

_Learn...to get **stronger? **_A flame of bitterness welled in the boy's chest.

"Shut up!" he choked, his lip trembling. "They'd _kill _me if I fought back!"

"Kill _them._"

"I _can't_!" he screamed, closing his eyes so he couldn't look at her anymore.

"Why not?"

"Because..." he stumbled over his words, trying to think of a good enough reason as to _why _he couldn't kill them. His gaze ran over his skinny arms and his small frame. He glimpsed at his broken arm and fingers and back down to his bruised knees. He sighed miserably.

"_I'm weak,_" he sniffed, his voice lost on the wind in a whisper. He wiped at the blood on his face with a dirtied knuckle.

Another uncomfortable silence endured. Casey had never felt so small in all of his life. This was even more humiliating than when he had been hung, drawn and quartered in the clutches of the bullies, who tormented him as if he were a baby bird...someone who couldn't fight back.

_That's why they hurt me, _Casey told himself. _I can't fight back. I'm weak. _

"I..." Casey choked, feeling more tears build up in his throat, causing himself to croak bitterly. "I...I'm sorry, I..."

"Here," she broke in, walking over to the boy across the muddy turf, a slow, half-smile melting across her face. "I'll...I'll walk you to the nurse." She slipped her hand under his arm and linked it with hers, pressing his shoulder next to the warmth of her coat.

Casey didn't object. Instead, he listened to the wind, the only sound apart from the occasional _sniff _from the girl. Everything was inky silence. She hadn't said anything else from what that she had already revealed.

_Perhaps she thinks she's said too much, _Casey told himself. _That's what I feel like sometimes. _

He smelt her strawberry scented hair again as it wafted across his nose in the wind. The warm, burning feeling in his face wouldn't disappear; no matter how calm and chilly that the air was outside. He really didn't feel that comfortable around girls...but he didn't like to _say _so.

"Thank you," he mumbled, staring at the floor and wishing that the searing pain in his wrist would go away.

For a while, there was a dark, unbearable silence. Casey felt her sigh next to him.

"No problem," she finally answered, sometime later.

He didn't want to bring up what she had said earlier. Obviously she had her own problems that she had had to deal with in the past, and it was quite clear that she didn't want them to be emerged again. So, he kept quiet. He chewed on his lip, tasting the metallic taste of red liquid.

"Got a name?" she murmured quickly, staring straight ahead. Her voice sounded almost lost.

His fingers clenched around the edge of his sleeve as another jolt of electric pain vibrated along the bone of his arm and struck him violently in his fingertips. He choked on a shriek, but managed to whisper in the air through clenched teeth.

"C-Casey..." he replied. "M-my name's Casey."

She smiled weakly, still not looking at him. Her expression was filled with guilt. "I'm Grace," she told him in a hollow tone, squeezing his elbow a little more with hers.

Casey's lip throbbed, but he still managed to pull a smile, even though it must have looked rather painful. He was grateful that someone had given him so much more of their trouble. Usually if anything happened like this, they simply jeered at his injuries and rubbed salt into his wounds. But not this time. This girl was helping him. She understood what he was going through...or so she _said. _It was the first time that someone had held out their hand to him after he had fallen; giving him the chance to get back up on his feet, brush himself down...

...and smile again.

_Grace._


	4. Accused

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films.

-oOo-

**Chapter 4 – Accused**

The musty, clogging odour of dust and spilt disinfectant filled Casey's nostrils as he slumped against the wall of the ambulance, one arm splayed across his chest whilst his broken one cradled in the sling that had been tied around his shoulder for support. The vehicle zoomed along, now and again allowing a few unwanted bumps to annoy those in the back.

_This is so embarrassing, _Casey thought, that horrible voice inside of his head: that one that was unbearable to listen to, but somehow made him know it was right.

It _was _embarrassing.

How had one morning at school gone so _wrong_? All he had wanted was a typical, normal day, just like any other. A few cuts and bruises could have possibly been forgiven, perhaps a shove down one of the corridors or a tackle into the lockers.

But yet, here he was. Riding in the back of a bouncing ambulance with his arm strapped tightly to his chest so it was almost impossible to move, with more pain vibrating through his body than three months of a semester put together.

He could still remember Nurse Harper's reaction after he had limped into her office for the second time that morning:

"_Oh, my God!" Her exclamation echoed around the white walls and they flew back at Casey, slapping him in his stinging face. "Casey, what happened **now**!" _

_Casey opened his mouth, but no words came out. "I..."_

"_He had a bit of an accident," explained Grace's voice, drifting gently through the tense atmosphere. "He fell down the bleachers, and..." She winced and gestured towards the shattered wrist. _

_Casey closed his eyes and waited for the reaction. He wanted to sink into the ground with the worms and die._

"_Jesus...Casey!" she snapped, her voice harsh and tinkled with concern. "What have you done to it?" _

_Casey sighed. He hung his head even further so it teetered on his shoulders. He felt a soft blush creep across his face, and a pain so sickening hit his stomach, he was sure he was going to vomit. Instead, he heard a few of his own words answering back, although he was sure his lips never moved. However, they were a little numb._

"_Broken," he whispered simply. "I think."_

"_You **think?" **she replied dryly, an eyebrow disappearing into her dark hair. "Casey, that's **definitely **a break – I'm gonna have to call the hospital – "_

"_What?" Panic froze in his throat; his head snapped up._

_She stared at him for a short while, confusion playing across her face. "Yes, call the hospital. We need to get that treated right away – you can't go around all day with a broken wrist!"_

_Casey fumbled on his feet, his hobble supported by the shoulder of Grace under his good arm. "You...you don't have to call my parents, do you?" he asked rather hopefully, clenching his teeth in prayer._

"_Of course I do," she replied. "They have to be informed of this and sign the forms for you – "_

"_No!" Casey burst in frantically, his eyes widening. "No, please don't tell them – they can't know about this!"_

_Grace frowned. "Casey?"_

_However, the implied opening for a response left nothing. Casey merely scoffed out a sigh and turned his head away from the enquiring faces. An expression of irritation and desolation clouded his eyes._

"_You wouldn't understand."_

Yet, now, throughout all of the beeping and whooshing brushes of air that swept by from passing cars, Casey couldn't help feeling the silence present in the small backspace of the vehicle. It was almost like a gentle, irritating _hum, _which remained in the head, and seemed to grow stronger the more that he tried to take his mind away from it.

"_What _wouldn't I understand?" the question asked quietly, causing Casey to glance up.

He stared into the face of Grace, her dark hair rippling against her chin and her eyes boring into his; searching, imploring. She tilted her head a little to one side, attempting to search for answers.

Casey looked away. "Nothing."

Why was _she _here, anyway? Why had she volunteered to come to the hospital with him? At the moment, Casey wasn't sure whether he wanted her to be sitting next to him, with her arm around him for support, or splayed flat out on the kerb in a bloody heap after he had thrown her headfirst through the window. After all, wasn't it _her _who had caused him to slip in the hallway? And hadn't she caused him to fall down those bleachers?

_What is her **deal, **anyway? _he thought suspiciously, eyeing her through squinted slits. _Is she trying to kill me, or something? The way things with her are going, we'll hit a fucking truck and be blown all the way to Madagascar. _

"Why did you come with me?" he asked her, finally glancing back up at her again, his back leaning against the side and looking glum.

She clicked her tongue and rolled her chocolate eyes. "Chill out," she teased. "You're always on the guarded level, you are." She picked at her painted nails and continued: "Why do you always think badly of people all the time?"

She reminded Casey of a court prosecutor. Her voice was cold and calm.

Casey frowned a little, trying not to shudder inside. "You didn't answer the question." His sapphire eyes buried themselves into her soul, prying into her to find a response.

She smirked, lacing her fingers together. "You're not gonna stop asking until you get an answer, huh?"

He raised his eyebrows, rather sceptically.

"All right," she murmured, defeated. She untied her knots for fingers and set them in her lap, crossing one leg over the other with a reluctant grimace. She gazed at him, her dark eyes deadly serious. "If you really _must _know, I came here to give you some support. It was practically my fault anyway, right?"

_Yes. _

That's what he _really _wanted to say. Instead, he just shrugged in boredom.

"Besides," she continued, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "No one likes going to the hospital. It's got all of those needles...and gross smells, and bloody bodies – "

"Yeah, I know," Casey cut in, shooting arrows from his stare. "Thanks."

She glared at the sharpness in his tone, and at the way he seemed to be giving her the cold shoulder all of a sudden. "Yeah, _well_," she started again, venom sprouting from her tongue and infecting the words. "Like I said, I'm just trying to help you."

He rolled his eyes. He had only done it for a split second, and hadn't thought that she would notice. Nevertheless, she _did. _

"What?" she snarled.

_Shit. She **would **have to be one of those eagle-eyed girls who just notice everything. _

He jerked his head to stare at her fuming face and responded with a confused frown. "Hmm?"

"Oh, don't act the innocent, smartass," she spat, crossing her arms tightly across her chest, her eyebrows sinking into her cheeks. "I saw what you did – don't play dumb."

He shrugged again, keeping his attention on the whizzing cars that were passing by outside. "I didn't do anything," he muttered, in a quiet, distant voice.

"You fucking liar."

He flinched at the danger that twinkled on the edges of the painful accusation, cutting and slicing his skin deep like sharp knives. He attempted to brush it off by answering; but instead he obeyed his brain and continued to gaze out of the window.

"I'm _not _lying."

She scoffed and threw her hands up into the air dramatically. "There he goes again."

It was almost as if she were speaking to someone who wasn't there, and that hurt Casey a little. Of course, he was used to that – the ignorance of heartless people – but not when he was the only one with her.

"What did I do?" he questioned in a small voice, tilting his head up and trying to frown, but instead allowing it to look like an agonising scowl.

A sinister smile played over her smooth face, reminding Casey of those pre-school teaching assistants. They always seemed to grin at the children and show pearly whites, when everyone really knew that they were exposing vampire fangs, ready to render the little mites into forty pieces.

"L – i – i – i – e – e – e – d – d – dah!" she droned out in one, long, slow word, as if she were describing it to someone of the mentally insane, or a person with the I.Q of three.

He made a disgusted face at her and turned away again, his nose slightly screwed up in place. "Right," he mumbled sarcastically.

"Why the fuck did you roll your eyes?" she blurted out, her tone icy.

"No reason."

"Bullshit."

A firm, murderous gleam outlined his pupils as he glowered at her. They flickered with embers. "It doesn't matter what I do or say – you're always gonna comment on it."

"Phft," she scoffed rudely, casually tossing a hand over her shoulder as if she were washing herself clean of the whole conversation. "I'm not _that _bored."

Silence followed.

However, it didn't last long. From her direction, Grace sighed exasperatedly and spun around to face the pouting teenager. "Look," she started, rolling her dark eyes. "I didn't mean it, okay? It's just...I feel like you're angry at me, for some reason."

Casey shrugged, his voice flat. "I'm _not _angry at you." He kept his gaze to the wall.

"Then why won't you look at me?"

_No, _Casey thought to himself, his whole body going rigid. _I can't let her look at me. She'll search my face...my **eyes **for answers, and I – I can't let her see them! I can't let anyone see them...or me..._

He stared at his bandaged wrist again, playing with a loose shred of gauze that flapped by the edge. He didn't answer. He _couldn't. _What could he say that would make any sense at all? She was sitting there, waiting for a response that he couldn't give.

_Afraid of what she'll think, huh?_

Casey groaned. That guilty voice of his was back. The voice that spoke his true thoughts, and based itself on realism. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block it out, but it was too clever.

Damn consciences.

_Talk to her. Look at her in the face, you puss. _

"No," the boy growled, crossing his skinny arm over the other and slumping against the side of the ambulance, his sneakers rooting themselves into the ground.

_She's just a girl, no need to be so fucking afraid. Just talk to her, already! She's apologising._

"I don't want to," Casey grumbled back in reply, pinching his eyes tightly together, plunging his mind into complete darkness, cutting away his guilty threads. Perhaps this would teach it a lesson.

"Well, fine," came a poisonous reply from in front of him; the words tipped with frustration. "Don't look at me then – just be fucking miserable."

_Huh? _Casey snapped his eyes open, revealing sight towards the fuming expression opposite, staring out of the window with her arms folded as tight as an envelope across her chest.

And then he remembered what he had said.

"_I just feel like you're angry at me, for some reason."_

"_I'm **not **angry at you."_

"_Then why won't you look at me?"_

"_No, I don't want to."_

"I didn't mean that," he quickly blurted out, as if the answer had been electrocuted out of him. "I didn't mean to make you mad, I just – I..." but, as usual, whenever he tried to explain this ridiculous problem of his, it deleted itself into nothing.

Grace turned towards him, alarmed by his outburst, and curious by his unorthodox apology. If it _was _an apology. She frowned, wondering whether to feel comforted or more worried.

The ambulance ran over a bump in the road and they were knocked slightly into the air for a moment. Casey's wrist made an involuntary jerk and he grunted in pain.

"Almost there now, kids," called back the driver in a cheery voice, hearing the sharp wince escaping through Casey's teeth. "Just a few more blocks."

"Let's fucking hope so," muttered Casey quietly under his breath, balancing himself in the seat again and attempting to avoid the icy beams that were coming from Grace's glare.

_Kill me now._

-oOo-

"Uck," Grace murmured, recoiling in disgust from the pungent odour of rubber escaping from the mint green walls. "Sick...fuckin' _hate _these places." She moved closer to Casey's side, screwing her nose up.

"You get used to the smell," said Casey dryly. "It's just like the nurse's bay in school."

They continued on past, following the nurse who was leading them to the x-ray facilities. The cold floor-tiles delivered clomping replies back to their ears, smelling of too much disinfectant. Casey wondered if it was strong enough to burn through his shoes. The smell burnt his nostrils and he choked back a retch.

His eyes fell across the emergency wards as they passed, filled to the brim with first aid kits, morphine drips and beds of all sizes, carrying the weight of invalids from a huge range of ages. Nurses were speaking to a few, and one was attempting to comfort a young girl of around seven years old who had burst into tears.

Grace turned away. "The smell's not the _only _reason why I hate these places."

"Yeah," Casey mumbled awkwardly. He didn't know how else he could reply to that statement. He stared down at his wrapped arm again, blood seeping through beneath the first thick layer of bandage. The pain returned again for a moment, and he clenched his teeth against it with a hiss.

_It's her fucking fault I'm here in the first place, _he grumbled to himself. _If she didn't want to come here, she should have just left me alone. _

However, at that moment, a sharp jolt of panic rushed through his veins as they passed one of the Emergency facilities. A display of needles, small surgery knives and other sharp objects lay inside, glimmering faintly in the dim hallway light.

His brain acted immediately and he glanced away with a small gasp, his eyes bulging. "Shit – "

"Are you okay?" came Grace's calm voice, poking his shoulder and blinking at the sight of his paling face. "You look like you're about to be sick – "

"Oh, _Goddd..._" Casey's groans alerted the nurse's attention in front of them, and she turned suspiciously, her sharp eyes landing on the boy.

"Feeling all right?" she asked kindly, concerned at his panic.

Casey swallowed bile. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and began to feast on the nails nervously, his breathing ragged. "Fuck...fuck..._fuck..._"

He was beginning to attract attention. Some of the patients in the ward darted exhausted eyes towards the traumatised boy, who was walking at such a nervous, rapid pace that he almost collided into their guide.

Grace almost slipped on the waxed floor in an effort to catch up with him. "What is _with _you?" she laughed, softly amused. She tossed back her mahogany locks and touched his shoulder for encouragement. "You're only gonna need an x-ray, nothing like _those _things. Everything's gonna be – "

"Don't fucking touch me!" suddenly screamed Casey, in such a cold fury that it set the little girl off into piteous wails and howls once again. He shrugged away her hand from his shoulder violently and stepped away from her, glaring dangerously back at her with his eyes burning.

Grace blinked. "Wha – ?"

"It's _your _fucking fault I'm here in the _first _place!" yelled Casey, his voice louder as it carried itself across the corridor. His rage blazed behind his eyes and cindered into hers. He didn't care about her seeing them – perhaps it was about time that she _did. _

_She needs to know all of the shit I have to put up with! All of the shit like **her! **_

"Casey, shut the hell up!" she whispered harshly, aware of all of the eyes that were focusing on their spat, and all of the hospital staff who were looking down their noses at such appalling language.

"I shouldn't be here!" Casey wailed angrily, clenching his fists at his sides, filled with a fiery courage he was completely surprising himself. His head felt light, as if he were watching this event from a third person's view. This wasn't him. It _couldn't _be.

"You've got to have it checked out, moron," said Grace reasonably, although her words cut.

"But I wouldn't have to have it checked out if it wasn't for you!" he spat back nastily, moving at an even quicker pace, attempting to put as much space between the two of them as possible. "I sprained this fucker because of _you, _and I fell down the bleachers 'cos you wouldn't leave me the _hell _alone!"

"Who are you trying to kid, you little shit!" barked Grace spitefully, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around to stare into the naked blue flames flickering in his face. "Don't you _dare _blame all of this on me!"

"Who else is there!" growled the boy, gritting his teeth together, at that moment looking quite murderous. His hands clenched tighter, his nails slicing his palms.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Grace still had the furious boy's shirt gripped in her shaking fist, lifting him towards her so that their noses were almost touching. It looked like a headlong battle from their profiles. Grace's bright copper eyes moulded into the enraging sapphire flames of his, causing a complete meltdown of their senses. And once again, Grace could see the hidden messages hiding there, dancing in the fire:

_Fuck you, bitch!_

_Go to hell!_

_You don't know the shit I've been through! Why should you care about me?_

_Leave me the hell alone!_

_Stupid bitch._

For a moment, she stood there, flabbergasted. She released his shirt slowly, stepping back a few steps, as if he were a rabid animal, ready to attack. Her rage cooled, and instead let herself fall prey to those hell-fire eyes, that inflicted such pain when intended.

"I wish I'd never met you," Casey choked bitterly, continuing to stare into her surprised face without blinking.

Grace suddenly felt very unusual and cold. Those words...they really _hurt _her, deep inside. She hadn't wanted this. She thought that they could have perhaps have been friends. He certainly looked as if he needed one – and she wanted to help him. But now...it was clear why that he _didn't. _

_He doesn't trust anyone, _she realised. _He doesn't let anyone get close enough, and when they do, he prevents it from happening. He's like a bomb, always ready to go off, but not waiting until people get close enough before telling them. _

"Me too," she whispered reluctantly.

And some part of her meant it.


	5. Convinced

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films.

-oOo-

**Chapter 5 – Convinced**

"N-no..._no, _Mom," Casey groaned, mumbling down the telephone receiver as he stood lamely in the hospital corridor, leaning against the cold wall. "No – really, it's nothing. It's just a break."

"_**Just **a break!" _his mother repeated, at such a pitch that the boy clenched his teeth, wondering if dogs could hear what he was hearing. _"Casey! My God..._"

Casey closed his eyes and sighed. A small root began to form inside of him, manifesting shame. _She sounds so disappointed with me. Like it's all **my **fault. _

He heard his mother's cracking, deeply ridden sigh from the other end of the line. _"How did it happen?_" she questioned, her voice cold and stern. "_What on earth were you doing to break your wrist?_"

Casey's mouth went dry. He really, _really _hadn't wanted to call his parents. He knew what their reactions would be, and how they would make him feel. Deep inside, right now...he felt _pathetic. _His mother thought of him as a clumsy child – someone who couldn't even keep their footing on tarmac.

He knew that he embarrassed his parents. Especially his father.

_Dad..._ His heart sank.

"I...I erm," he stuttered, running his hand through his hair awkwardly. "I just fell down the bleachers – Mom?"

Another long, thwarted breath was released. Then; "_Yes_?"

"Don't tell Dad. Please."

"_Casey, don't be ridiculous! Of **course **I'm going to tell your father! What do you expect me to say when you come home with your arm in a cast_!"

His mind raced as he racked his brains. "I - !" he began indignantly, but then everything upstairs seemed to collapse and die. His mouth opened in a round circle, but then quickly shut again as if it were a drawbridge pulled. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for the result.

"I...I don't know, Mom," he whispered, hitting the back of his head against the wall as he gazed forlornly at the mint coated ceiling.

"_Oh, Casey,_" Lorraine Connor breathed, that same dissatisfied flicker reflecting from the words that she spoke, ever so softly. _"What are we going to do with you? You never know anything, do you?_"

He closed his throbbing eyelids, swallowing back his humiliation. "No, Mom," he choked. "You're right. No...I don't."

There was a long, gleaming silence of pain and harsh breath. Eventually, Lorraine's voice arrived again, only after being distracted by a consistent muttering in the background, a voice gruff and low.

"Who's that?" the boy asked quickly, not wanting to sound as desperate as he felt.

"_It's your father,_" she answered simply.

Casey gulped, his body rushing cold. "D-Dad?"

"_Look, honey, are you still at the hospital?_" came her reply, although this time she sounded a lot more determined for a serious response. _"We can come and collect you, me and your father._"

He caught his breath in his throat and pounded his good fist in frustration against the side of the room, teeth gritted. "N-no, Mom, don't worry about me."

"_Don't be silly – are you there alone?_"

He shook his head, almost to himself, and swallowed back the urge to vomit violently. "No, Mom, I came here with Grace. She's...she's waiting in the lobby." He trailed off towards the end, something biting inside. Secretly he wondered if she was still there.

_Has she left me? Here? All alone? _

He closed his eyes, a cold, shuddering feeling of self-disgust raging through his veins and bringing his whole body to a hot flush. _Shit. _

He hadn't realised the silence that had been present on the telephone for the last few seconds. Finally, his mother spoke up, sounding rather surprised, if not a little confused. "_Grace? Honey, who's Grace?_"

Casey groaned. "No one, Mom...she's just a girl at Herrington."

"_Casey! You made a new friend?_" He almost felt hurt at how enthusiastic she sounded. He glanced around, wondering if any of the hospital visitors were eyeing his burning face with horrid curiosity.

_I can see why she's like this, though, _Casey thought bitterly. _It's not that often that I make new friends – let alone a girl. _

"Well...sort of," he mumbled softly. It wasn't exactly a lie. She _had _helped him after his fall, and offered to accompany him to the emergency ward. However...she wasn't exactly the most understanding of people, in Casey's opinion.

_She's just a complete jinx. _

The teenager almost died on the spot when he thought he heard his mother giggling down the receiver. "_Oh, sweetheart, how lovely!_" she gushed, her tone strangely high-pitched. "_It's nice that you made a new friend! Perhaps you could invite her over one day?_"

Casey pulled a face. "Huh!"

"_Well...honey," _she continued, determined to bring her plan forth into view. "_It's been a while since you've invited anyone over to stay, or for a visit. You're so secretive with your friends._"

A welt of dejection swelled in Casey's chest. He cast his blue eyes to the waxed tiles, wishing he could smash his own body into a fleshy goop just by wishing it. He breathed a heavy sigh and felt his fingers loosen, the grip on the receiver weakening.

_It's because I don't **have **any fucking friends worth bringing over, _he thought miserably. _But if I tell my parents that, they'll be disappointed in me, or some shit like that. God...I hate this. I hate everything. _

He frowned. _I hate **her **for making me feel this way. _

"Actually," he growled, grasping the phone firmly, taking control. "She's not my friend. I-I don't even think of her that way at all." He didn't even realise that he was grinding the skin of his teeth away as he delivered his words. "Mom, she's –!"

"_Oh, Casey!_" she cut in, sounding elated. _Forebodingly _elated. "_I-I don't believe it! You didn't tell me that you...you were **crushing **on her!_"

The boy practically felt his whole world caving in at those few words. His hands shook uncontrollably, feeling himself break out in a cold sweat. He felt his lips dehydrate.

_How...how could she even **think **that! _he thought with belated repulse. _Like there would be a chance that I could ever even **think **about liking **her! **I'd rather eat my fucking boiled puke than go out with her! I'd rather **die! Die! **_

"No!" he screamed hoarsely, and to his own amazement down the receiver. "Don't say that, Mom – _don't say that_!"

A few occupied seats in the waiting hall glanced up at him with ominous, annoyed eyes. Their bloodied wounds and gauze-strung slings were metaphors of anger that travelled up their bodies and nested in their faces. Casey tried not to stare in their direction.

A long, flummoxed silence followed. Casey's mother was obviously rather taken aback by the outburst.

"_Don't shout at me down the phone,_" she hissed icily, in a voice that she rarely used. "_It's rude, dammit._"

"S-sorry."

The quietness down the phone continued, and Casey could feel the edges of his ears burning, as if hot pokers were being pressed to them. He rested against the wall, relieved waves passing through them as the ice-cold titles soothed his humiliation.

His mother was silent for a long time; and then, when she finally spoke, her voice quivered a little, sounding almost as if she were to yell at him again. Casey also observed that her tone was more concerned than he had expected it to be.

"_Casey?" _she said quietly, sounding almost deadpan. _"You **are **telling me the truth, aren't you?" _

He blinked. "Huh?"

"_About falling down the bleachers...that **is **what happened, isn't it? For you to break your wrist?"_

Casey could see where this was going. He swallowed down a fiery, sick feeling in his throat and closed his aching eyes. It had happened for a while now, especially since he had been attending Herrington High. He had arrived home many a night with fresh wounds – cuts and bruises, black eyes and swollen cheeks. However, he had never received any broken bones from those bastards.

_Not yet, _is what Casey realised, and vaguely knew what his mother was asking him.

"I'm not lying to you, Mom," he said coldly.

"_Casey, I'm **not **accusing you of lying to me," _she replied seriously.

_Like fuck, _he thought bitterly. _Not much. _

"_I just want to know what happened to you, honey,"_ she continued, her words taking on a more sugary sweet tone, as if she thought it would be easier for him to tell her the "truth" if it sounded as if she was on his side. But Casey knew what she was _really _trying to do: butter him up to make a "confession". She wanted to hear that his tormentors were responsible.

_Doesn't she trust me not to lie to her about something like this? _he thought angrily.

"Mom –" he began, beginning to feel frustrated.

"_If there's something you want to tell me...something you're perhaps **afraid **to tell me," _she tried, speaking very slowly. _"Then you know you can go right ahead. Nothing will happen to you – don't worry. I just want you to tell me the truth, sweetie." _

Casey sighed, gripping the phone receiver, enraged. "I _am _telling you the truth, Mom. Why don't you believe me?"

"_It's just...well, it isn't the first time that you've lied to me about something like this –"_

"I'm not lying _now_!" the boy whined, wondering for a fleeting moment if he should hang up the phone and walk away – far away, right out of the hospital and never look back for anything. "Mom, I've broken something here...why would I lie – ?"

"_But I never know what's happened to you, Casey – not **really**!" _Lorraine protested, shocking her son by the hysteria in her words. _"You never talk to me about those...things that happen to you at school. You..." _– and here, her voice broke a little – _"I don't know how to talk to you."_

A low, hollow feeling swelled in Casey's throat and he had to close his eyes, bitten horribly by the words she had just said to him. _She sounded so...disappointed in me, _he thought, feeling a strange, prickly warmth emitting behind his eyes. He bit his lip to avoid it trembling later on, as he knew that it would.

"Why not?" he croaked. He hated sounding upset on the phone, especially to his mother. As always, it would turn ugly – usually damaging his self-esteem and his confidence. _As everything does._

"_I can't,"_ Lorraine replied, and now her voice had grown stronger – sterner. _"I can't talk to you, Casey...I don't want to."_

He squeezed his eyes shut and felt rivers of pain flowing down his cheeks. He chewed the inside of his mouth as he felt the pulsing beat of his heart behind his forehead. _Oh, Mom..._ he thought miserably. _Do you really mean that? Do you really never want to talk to me?_

_Do...do you **hate** me? _

"I-I gotta go, Mom," he sniffed, his fingers shaking as he held the receiver feebly – unwillingly, away from his ear, tasting the salt of his tears. "I'll...I'll talk to you later." He really wished that she couldn't hear his despondent voice crackling down the other end of the line.

"_Casey, what's wrong?" _she asked, in a not-too sympathetic tone. _"Why are you crying?" _

_She doesn't care, _he realised, rubbing at his damp cheeks. _She doesn't care about me. She hates me...because I'm weak. She hates me...oh, God..._

"Bye, Mom," he whispered, his sorrow pouring down his face and filling his words. And with that, not wishing to listen to any more of his mother's apathetic advice and words of wisdom, he placed the phone back onto its holder with a quiet _click _and a tiny sob.

-oOo-

At what seemed like forever, half an hour had passed after the soul-crushing phone call that Casey had made home. He had escaped the hall of wandering eyes, and had begun to occupy the waiting rooms, sitting dejectedly on one of the scratchy chairs with his arm in a cast and his eyes on the ground. His limb hung limply in a sling by his side.

"_She hates me,_" he murmured, practically to himself. He began to feel the prickles bristling behind his lids again. "_She hates who that I am._"

_Of course she does, _came the voice of shame once again, pulling at the strings of anger and misery in his heart. _Who doesn't?_

Casey groaned, slamming his head into his hands. He felt the urge to vomit building up inside of his throat again, and he wondered just how long that Grace was going to be in the restroom. _Why the fuck do girls take so long in there anyway?_ he thought bitterly.

_You spend longer in there than most girls, dickhead – hiding from **them. **_

Glancing down at his sneakers for a short second, he noticed with annoyance that his shoelace was untied. Ashamedly, he decided that he simply must tie it up again, to avoid disasters that would most definitely happen because of it. _It must have come undone when me and Grace were arguing earlier, and I tripped over that tray of needles, _he remembered, with a little shudder. _Goddamn shoes...why can't they just stay together? _

_You should talk, _came the voice. _Someone else should pull his act together, huh? _

Frowning slightly, Casey decided to wave the tormenting aside, as usual, and leant down as far as he could, in order to re-tie his rebellious laces. However, it wasn't long before he discovered that the task was virtually impossible. With his arm slung, and cast in plaster, he couldn't exactly use both hands to re-do his sneaker up. He twisted and turned in all sorts of directions, but it did no good for him. He twitched his fingers and stretched them as far as they could go, until he felt they might snap from their positions. In the end, he just gave up, leaning on his elbows in frustration and feeling useless.

_Bollocks. _

"Here," suddenly floated in Grace's voice, sounding rather distant and quiet. "Let me help."

He stared up at her from his awkward pose, resting back against the support of the chair and shifting his arm into the comfort of his other, cradling it. Grace had returned from the bathroom, and had noticed the boy's problem. Casey now glanced down at her on the floor, grasping his laces in her slender fingers and fastening them together, tying the sneaker for him.

"Thank you," he mumbled, unsure of what to say to her. Ever since their argument in the corridor, they hadn't said a single word to one another. He couldn't help feeling that she was still sore about it.

_I really didn't mean to make her mad._

"No problem," she replied, unemotionally, her fingers still working. She didn't look at him.

Guilt swelled up behind his eyes and he sighed slowly, releasing it in a long, uncomfortable breath. He took to chewing on the nails of his hand, raising his good arm away from the girl's head, confused of what to say to her next. After all, she _was _helping him, despite the fact that he had constantly said to her that he could do without it.

_Why would she do that? _he wondered, ripping at the skin of his fingertips, causing them to bleed a little. _Why hasn't she gone home? Anyone else would. Anyone else would have walked straight out of that door the second I started screaming at them. In fact – most people wouldn't have even volunteered to go to the hospital with me._

"Why haven't you gone home?" he asked her quietly, and out of the blue. His voice still quivered a little from what his mother had said to him earlier.

If Grace had noticed this, she didn't acknowledge it. Shrugging, she did the finishing touches on the poor boy's laces and stood up, still keeping her gaze far away from his.

"I dunno," she mumbled. "I just haven't." Then, suddenly, her voice raised a little – mostly out of aggravation than anything else. "Why? Do you _want _me to go home?"

She still wasn't looking at him.

Casey sniffed, and directed his vision to his dirty sneakers, which were now neatly tied in all-too elegant bows. His wrist throbbed a little in its cast, and he attempted to smother the croaky squeak coming from his bruised throat.

"N-not really," he admitted, gnawing at his lip like a rabid hamster. "It's just...well, anyone else...other people...would have gone home by now – and left me here."

As he muttered out those last words, he tried (with no success) to connect his eyes with her refined cinnamon ones, to see some kind of a reaction from her, or possibly for her to look at him – even for a _second_.

But she didn't.

"I'm not anyone else," she eventually whispered coldly, and that was the last thing that she said to him for a very long time. Rising to her feet, she strode past him and sat down on the chair two chairs to the right of him. She said nothing. She continued to gaze at her fingernails, and at some of the tortured-looking patients slumped on their woollen blankets and mattresses – some of them dead to the world.

_She's still pissed at me, _thought Casey glumly. _She can't even **look **at me, let alone talk to me._

Sighing wearily, he rested his pounding head against the frozen wall and stared up at the flickering strobe lights and the whirring, rotating fans spinning above his body. He felt ill. Ill to his stomach; especially by the way that Grace was treating him at the moment.

_I'm lower than dirt in her eyes, _he understood, brushing away a few tears with his trembling fingers. _She hates me more than she did before. I doubt she ever liked me at all to begin with...and she was only trying to help me. **Help. **That's more than most people do for me. And I just throw it all back in her face – when she was just trying to help. _

_And now she hates me. _

_**I **hate you too. _

He felt the dripping salt of his tears coat his lashes and plaster themselves onto his face. He felt his skinny shoulders shaking with the thought of his horrible voice bouncing back and forth inside of his head, telling the truth as always...although it never refreshed him, nor dissolved any kind of pain.

_I hate myself too, _he told himself, replying his spoken mind as more tears sparkled on his eyelids. _I wish I could do what you told me to do. I wish I could escape this world – this world where everyone hates me. I wish I could run away from myself...and people like Mom, and Dad...and Grace._

_I wish I could kill myself._

Silence danced on the air around the waiting lobby. Grace still made no movement, and now, as Casey glanced at her, he noticed that she seemed to be locking eyes with another girl...around her age, across the room. She was convulsing and blabbering nonsense – obviously in shock – and was trying to be calmed by a group of nurses who were squeezing her hand, and mopping her sweaty forehead with a cold compress.

_Then kill yourself, pussy – and set me free too. _

_I can't. I-I just..._

_If you want to so badly, then do it, for God's sakes!_

_I can't! _the boy thought wildly, feeling his throat tighten at the unfairness and misery of the whole thing. _I can't – I'm **afraid! **_

_Oh, big fucking surprise **there! **You hate this place so much, why don't you just be a man, for **once, **and just run!_

Casey sobbed quietly, cupping his wet face in the palm of his good hand. _I **can't! **What about all of the people I'll leave behind – I'll **hurt **them! _

_**So what? **They've all hurt you in the past – what's your fucking problem? Why would they care if you died anyway? You said they all hated you – they **do! **So why the hell should you give a damn what they'll be like after you're gone?_

_But...but – I'm so scared..._

_Of what? Killing yourself?_

_Y-yes._

_Just go ahead and do it – however you want to. It'll only be painful for a moment, perhaps – but just think about it. Once it's over, you'll be free from this world. You'll be **free, **dammit. It's what you've always wanted. You'll be sent to a place where no one can ever hurt you again – where no one can **hate **you. _

_Y-you're right..._

_I know. I know I'm right. Just listen to me, for once in your life. Break free. Run away. Escape from this hell-hole that you call home, and just **run. **Far, far away, where no one can touch you. No one can hurt you, or call you names, or make you bleed. You will exchange your own misery for a lifetime of peace. You will exchange your blood for a lifetime of ecstasy._

_You...you make it sound so...so wonderful..._

_It's your paradise, Casey. Where you belong. Your new home. Where you fit in. _

_Where I belong... _

Casey didn't reply back to Grace either. For once, he listened to the echoing words of his spiteful mind and gave in to them, convinced that they had a point – something that he had been ignoring from the very beginning. Grace couldn't explain things like _that_ to him. She would ramble on about how you should _fight back, _and _learn to be happy._

_I tried that, Grace, _he thought bitterly. _It didn't work. _

And he suddenly understood, as he squatted there in that scratchy chair of scarlet thatch work and studied Grace's sombre face, hidden behind curtains of black velvet, he was convinced he was making the right choices...for once in his life. In his tattered mind of memories, he thought back to what had just happened not long ago:

"_You pathetic little shit!"_

"_You never know anything, do you?"_

"_I can't talk to you, Casey...I don't want to."_

"_**I **hate you too."_

"_I wish I'd never met you."_

"_Me too."_

He allowed the tears to flicker on his cheeks. He _wanted _them to. He wanted to show everyone that he was upset, and that he was serious about his feelings. He _wanted _everyone to know that he had had enough, and was about to put an end to all of his terrible problems. He wanted to show them that he didn't care what others thought of him...of what Grace, his parents – or _anyone _else for that matter thought. Including himself.

He wanted to show them that he was Casey Connor, and that, for once, he was not afraid.

_I'm not afraid to be free. _


	6. Mistrusted

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films. Casey's mother was given a name by me as I believe it is not credited anywhere.

-oOo-

**Chapter 6 – Mistrusted**

An hour had passed since the last time that Casey had spoken to his mother. He was still feeling sore about the whole situation, but, somewhere inside of him, he was beginning to heal himself after the little session of counselling that had been happening inside of his mind.

He didn't tell Grace what he had just told himself. No...it was for his ears only – no one else. _They just wouldn't understand, _Casey admitted, casting his blue irises into the backs of the nurse's heads, wondering how long he was actually going to be in this hospital.

_No one **ever **understands._

He stole a fleeting glance at the digital watch that ticked inconsistently at the base of his good wrist. It was almost two in the afternoon, and the faint gleam of the Ohio sunshine was beginning to dim a little, diminishing the glare of heat. However, this only made him feel a little worse, and somewhat dark inside.

Perhaps it was the ever-building sense of dread buried deep in his stomach. The knowing that he would have to go home and tell this to his parents made him shudder, just at the mere thought of it. He didn't want to tell his mother again, and as for his father...

_God knows whatthe hell **he **will do. _

Besides, there was not much more that he could do now, except wait for his parents to come and collect him – drive him straight home to a court jury, more like. He didn't wish to be crucified in such a way, but at present, there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening.

_I can't really stay here in the hospital for the rest of my fucking life, _he thought sullenly, flinching as he blinked through his bruised eye. His wrist let off a small twinge again and he hissed in pain, supporting it.

He turned his head slowly – reluctantly – and gazed at Grace out of the corner of his vision. There she sat, tapping her flat shoe against the ceramic floor with her arms crossed over her chest. The boy also noticed that she was chewing on the skin of her lips, and playing with small strands of her hair; twisting it around her soft fingertips.

_Wait a moment, _thought Casey viciously, quickly snapping himself away and staring straight ahead – at anywhere, except at _her. I'm still angry at her. Why should I feel bad about the way that she's treating me now? What about the way she made **me **feel earlier? This was all her fault, after all. _

_Right?_

He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then decided against it – especially when she gave off an aggravated groan just at that moment. Casey could tell that she was getting rather impatient, and seemed to be waiting for something.

_But...I know what **I'm **waiting for, _he thought, puzzled for the first time that afternoon. _Why is **she **still here? Is she waiting for someone too? Who is it? Why hasn't she gone home yet? She can't still be waiting for **me, **can she?_

There were so many questions that he wanted answers to, but somehow, he knew that he wouldn't get them from this girl. For all he knew, she would just sit there on her bottom for the rest of the week, without saying a single word to anyone. She would just gaze longingly out of the window with foggy eyes, and chew on her nails so frequently that eventually she would have no fingers at all.

_Stupid bitch, _thought Casey, with a roll of his eyes.

-oOo-

Casey could still remember the humming noise of the lights and fans overhead as his parents had marched into the hospital, like a pair of World War II soldiers that had just spotted a snitch whilst on patrol. He saw the grave, demanding gleam in his father's pupils, and it made him wish to dash to the nearest cubicle and empty his body of all the sickness.

Lorraine Connor made it over to him first, wishing to have a word with him whilst his father took over the enthralling task of filling in visiting forms and notes of confirmation that their son had just received treatment at the ward.

"Oh, Casey," she sighed, sounding rather disappointed, when she spotted the sling hanging across his hunched shoulder. "Look at your arm..."

He didn't reply. Instead, he simply sat there and felt the sting of her words strike his heart. _She doesn't feel sorry for me, or want to make it all better, like other moms' would, _he thought, sighing despondently. _She just sounds ashamed of me. _He lowered his head and let his eyes bore through his jeans.

"Hi, Mom," he murmured, his voice cracking.

"Look at this thing!" she continued, prodding the thick, plastered cast with narrowed eyebrows. "Goodness, Casey – whatever did you _do _to yourself? Look at your eye and your lip! You're covered in bruises...all of this from falling down a few _bleachers_?"

He recognised the unsure sound in her tone of voice, and frowned inside. _Fuck you, Mom, _he growled to himself. _You still don't believe me. You come all this way to collect me, and you still think that a couple of those dickheads beat me up. You still think that I'm lying to you._

_Fuck you._

"It's just what happened," he sighed angrily, wanting his voice to appear fierce in her ears, but instead it crackled and broke in his own. He shuddered, ashamed. He flexed the fingers that poked out of the end of his splintered wrist and flinched from the pain.

"I called your school and they told me what had happened," she added, in a tight, emotionless voice. Her soft grey eyes burned into his as she stared at him; so seriously. "As soon as you rang...I wanted – "

"You called the school?" Casey couldn't believe what he was hearing! There he had been, informing his mother of the whole accident, and then, despite he had told her the truth, she had called the school anyway to find out what had happened!

_Doesn't she believe me at all? _he thought bitterly, a white-hot fury welding between his ears. _Why would she call up the school – and behind my back as well! _

"Well, I _had _to, Casey," she replied, still in that same, stone-filled voice. "Nurse Harper told me that you said you had fallen down the bleachers. I can't believe that..." – and here, she screwed up her nose a little as she gazed at her son's injury – "_this..._was because of one little fall."

Casey felt his whole body rush cold with anger. He stared at her with his piercing blue eyes, and shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Why don't you _believe me_?" he asked quietly.

"You've lied before –"

"I'm _not _now!"

"What's going on?" came Frank Connor's voice, his glinting eyes attracting the ones of his family when he made his way over to the two of them, demanding an answer just by his presence.

Casey turned away, grinding his teeth. "N-nothing, Dad. Hi."

Frank stole a fleeting glance at his son's injury before glancing into his face; turned away towards the wall. "That looks nasty, son," he included, his voice a reflection of the boy's mother, in that same cold, blank tone.

_Doesn't he believe me either? _he wondered, feeling very ignored. He didn't ask that. He knew that if he questioned his father about anything, it would turn ugly for his part.

Instead, he simply remained quiet, listening to the humming in his ears. This was torture. He wanted to leave – leave the eyes and questions of his parents and just go home, hide under the soft covers of his bed and just fall asleep forever.

_Where the fuck is Grace? _

It suddenly dawned on him that she had vanished again, just like that. He didn't know whether to sigh in relief or to scream out loud in frustration. At least she couldn't be here for a subject to the obvious questions his mother would ask, but...yet...

_She could have said goodbye, _he thought bitterly, _Spiteful bitch. _

"Does it still hurt you, Casey?" Lorraine asked quietly, trying to stare into his eyes.

He shrugged, staring at his hands. One of them had a purple bruise the size of a grape on the back of it. He couldn't remember how it had gotten there. "Not really," he replied, "only when I move it."

"What were you doing on the bleachers anyway, son?" came his father's voice, cold and metallic, as always. Sometimes Casey would pray that just once – just once, his father would speak to him gently...in a voice that commanded welcome instead of shame.

Casey didn't look at him. "Eating my lunch," he mumbled.

"What?" came the reply, in a tone brimming with annoyance. "Speak up when you're talking to me son – and look at me."

The boy sighed. His father always persisted in doing this to him. If he didn't speak his words as if he were talking through a megaphone, he was told off for saying things "too quietly". He closed his eyes and repeated himself:

"I was eating my lunch, Dad."

"On the bleachers?" he said sceptically, his eyes boring into the top of his son's head. "Don't they have a cafeteria for that?"

"It was full," Casey lied.

His father nodded slowly, not sure whether to believe him or not. He held his breath and kept darting impatient glares at the receptionists, who were still sorting out his son's files and checking to see if he would be allowed to go home yet, or not.

"Well, it doesn't matter _how _it happened," broke in Lorraine, still with that doubtful voice that made Casey want to run out of the door. "The fact is: it's happened." She shot a sideways glance at her son, her lips pursed together a little. "Do you suppose staying off school might –?"

"Oh, Christ's sake, Lorraine," scoffed Frank, rolling his dark eyes, before Casey had a chance to say anything. "You'd keep him off school if he'd pricked his finger."

"He's broken his wrist," she replied icily, rummaging through her bag for something.

Frank folded his arms, looking at his son's cast, strapped over his left arm from all sides, as if inspecting it. He glared at his wife, who was still pulling out crumpled tissues and cough sweet wrappers from her handbag.

"You're right handed, aren't you, son?" she said quietly, staring directly into Casey's eyes, demanding a response.

"Yeah," the boy whispered dully.

"See? I don't see the problem."

Lorraine sighed, finally yanking out her coral lipstick and proceeding to apply it, all the while shaking her head a little in disagreement. "You can be so cold, sometimes, Frank –"

"He can't afford to miss school, Lorraine," he argued, his voice becoming a little harsher at that point, as if to say that the discussion was finished.

A rather uncomfortable silence ensued afterwards. Casey's father returned to the main entrance desk again with a sigh of frustration, to demand where his return papers were. Lorraine became unusually engrossed in her address book, looking everywhere around the hospital room except at her son.

Inside, Casey felt hollow and empty. A sinking feeling enveloped around his heart and pulled it under a tide of despair. For a moment there, he would have possibly had some time away from school – away from them. He could stay at home and study; perfectly safe. He would have been _safe. _He sighed in disappointment and tapped his sneaker on the floor.

His mother broke the silence all of a sudden, snapping her handbag shut with a _click, _turning to gaze at him. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you, honey," she said cheerfully. "Where's this 'Grace' girl that you keep telling me about?"

Casey frowned. _What the fuck? What is she talking about **now? **_

He looked at her as if she were mad. "I _don't _keep telling you about her," he replied coldly.

"Oh, yes, you do," she contradicted with a small laugh, squeezing his shoulder, suddenly all over-proud and leaping over-the-moon. "You told me on the phone, remember? You told me how much you _liked _her."

"I _don't _like her."

He hoped that that comment would put an end to it, but it didn't. Instead, Lorraine chuckled dryly, spinning around in her seat, but throwing a sly glance at her son every now and again. "Well, love, that's what I used to say about your father. _Then _look what happened."

Casey let his head fall back against the wall with a _bump, _casting his eyes upward. _God...help me. Get me out of here, **now. **Please...no more of this. No more problems._

"Hey, Casey," came Grace's small voice, appearing from around the corner, her dark hair hanging around her face. "You still here?"

_Oh, shit. _He felt his eyes widening at her appearance, all possible varieties of horror slapping him in the face. His teeth clenched and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling out of the chair.

"_What _are you _doing _here!" he hissed, pulling her aside. "I thought you'd gone home!"

She sneered at him. "I was just about to say the same thing."

"Look," Casey sighed, glancing back at his parents, who had suddenly caught his attention. "You can't stay here. You should just go – my parents are here, and I don't want them meeting you."

She sighed exasperatingly, but Casey saw a glint of hurt flash through her brown eyes. "Why not?"

"I-it's complicated," he stammered, grabbing the sleeve of her jacket in his good hand and attempting to pull her away from the watchful eyes of his mother, who seemed to be intrigued by what was going on. He thought that he would die and sink into the hard floor when he heard her voice:

"Casey? Who's this?"

_Great, _he thought angrily, _fucking brilliant. _He groaned, looking back at her and shaking his head. "No one, Mom," he mumbled.

However, it did no good. His mother had leapt out of her seat and made her way over to the two of them, ignoring the creeping blush billowing across her son's cheeks, and peering mysteriously at the young girl, who smiled pleasantly at the woman.

"Hello," Lorraine greeted warmly, returning the smile towards Grace. "I don't think we've met. Are you friends with Casey?"

Grace opened her mouth to respond, but then froze. She listened to the woman's words, over and over again in her head, trying to come up with an answer. _Am I friends with Casey? Am I friends with Casey?_

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, looking up and down his pink cheeks and his closed eyes. He seemed as if he wanted to collapse and be wheeled into the next emergency ward. He looked so embarrassed...what would he want her to say?

_**Am **I friends with Casey? Is he friends with me? _

"_I wish I'd never met you."_

"I-I...know him from Herrington," she finally said slowly. She did not want to give a definite 'yes' or 'no', and she heard Casey sigh next to her. Whether it was from relief or disappointment – she couldn't tell. She laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm Grace."

Casey felt his world crashing around. _Shit. _

"Oh, so _you're _Grace," Lorraine Connor smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Casey's told me all about you."

The boy's face paled. "Mom –!"

"Did you come along with him to the hospital?" continued Lorraine, ignoring Casey's pleas and grinning at Grace, who looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but now – even in one of Mr Furlong's science tests.

She managed to urge her neck to move, nodding up and down. "Yeah," she said carefully. "I...I volunteered to go. I was with him when it happened, anyway. I guess...I felt responsible, in a way."

_Yeah, because it was your fault, _Casey snapped inside.

His mother's face beamed with appraisal. "Well, it was very sweet of you to come with him," she said, squeezing Casey's arm. "but I'm sure it couldn't have been your fault, dear."

Casey looked away. _Wanna bet?_

"Well," answered Grace, giggling uneasily and absently twiddling with her fingers. "I just came to say goodbye to him...since I guessed he might be going home soon, and all."

Lorraine's grey eyes lit up with a sparkle, and she turned to Casey, trying not to make her enthusiasm seem obvious. "Oh, isn't that nice of her, honey?" she cooed, unable to wipe a pert smile from her face.

Casey could not answer. Instead, he nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor. He just wanted to _go home_! Why was his mother still standing there, humiliating him like this?

"Can we go now, Mom?" he asked in a tiny voice.

Grace, however, heard him, and seemed to get the message. She was making things worse by standing here, and she was obviously making Casey feel uncomfortable. She was even ready to admit that _she _wanted to leave, too.

"I, erm...I'd better be going, then," she spoke up, making her way towards the door. But before she did, she turned around, staring directly into Casey's shining blue eyes, wondering what to say next.

_Would he want me to be friends with him? Would he?_

"'Bye, Casey," she said quietly, seeing him lift his head up in surprise.

_She actually said goodbye? She **wanted** to say goodbye? To me?_

Grace stood there for a while, staring into the deep pools of his soul, struggling to find those messages again...those messages that held his inner feelings without him wanting anyone knowing.

_What's happening here?_

_Why do I feel so strange? Why?_

_Could this be what friendship feels like?_

_Why do I feel so...so bad?_

_Perhaps because it will all be lost soon...all be lost..._

She shook her head to herself as she stepped out of the door, thinking hard as to what Casey might have meant. She shivered against the chill breeze, worried about the boy.

_What will be lost soon? _she wondered. _What did he mean by that? _

She couldn't even tell if she wanted to know or not.


	7. Unloved

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films. Tina is actually a character in the movie, the girl who Delilah tells to print both stories in the paper. Her name is credited.

-oOo-

**Chapter 7 – Unloved**

The car ride home could have been the same as driving through the seventh circle of Hell for Casey. It was bad enough having his parents coming down to the hospital and giving him grief, his mother meeting Grace and his father being an asshole; but now he had to drive home with them as well.

He tried not to say much on the way back. After all, it wasn't difficult. His father kept his steely eyes fixed firmly on the road, whilst his mother kept babbling to no one in particular, gushing over how sweet that "that Grace girl" had been.

_Why did she have to embarrass me like that? _Casey thought wretchedly, slouching against the back seat, his eyes focused on his sneakers.

"Now, you remember what the doctor said to you, hon," perked up his mother's cheerful voice from the front, taking a break from talking about Grace. "You can't have that cast in the bath. You'll have to wrap it up in something."

Casey sighed. He usually preferred showers, but it looked like it would be too much of a risk. "Yeah."

"The nurse also gave you some painkillers for the times when it hurts the most," Lorraine continued, as if she thought that someone could be listening to her. "Don't take them every day, though, will you?"

"No, Mom," Casey murmured flatly, shaking his head and gazing out of the window.

_Whoosh. Whoosh. _The trees whizzed past as the car trundled along. Casey sighed and stared out at all of the clouds, slowly gathering for dusk. The dark shadows crept across his hands and along his cast, highlighting them. He thought about the day he had had, and humiliation kept sailing higher and higher with each memory.

_I just wanna get home and hide in my room forever, _he thought miserably. _Fuck everything. I've had enough for one day. _

"I've gotta stop for gas on the way home," Frank stated, in an emotionless voice.

"Okay, honey."

Casey said nothing. He simply continued to stare out of the window, wishing that the bottom of the car would open up and swallow him whole, ending this nightmare. He sighed and let the vehicle take him away.

Casey's mother immediately whirled to face him as Frank filled the car. He didn't acknowledge her; he simply stared down at his hands in his lap, trying his hardest to avoid looking at the _thing _on his arm.

"You're very quiet, Casey," his mother noticed, spinning in her seat and frowning.

"Sorry."

"Thinking about something?"

He sighed despairingly and closed his eyes. "Not really."

There was silence. _She wants me to be thinking about **her, **_he thought bitterly. _What is her problem, anyway? Why can't she just drop it? _

"Do you think Grace will be in school tomorrow?"

Casey inhaled through clenched teeth. "Mom..._I_ don't know –"

"Perhaps the two of you could be study-buddies," she suggested cheerfully, reaching over as far as she could, rubbing his shoulder. "That would be nice, wouldn't it, sweetie?"

Every nerve in Casey's body was screaming. He let his head fall as far back as it could on the car seat. His hands were shaking with frustration. _Mom...for the love of God, **shut the fuck up. **_

"Mmm," was all he responded with. He closed his eyes gently, lying back. Perhaps if he had a little nap on the way home, it would help. It would help with the gentle throbbing in his wrist and the throbbing pain in his head from his mother. He snuggled to get comfortable and attempted to block everything else out.

The car door opened again and Frank got in. He continued to drive the rest of the way home, mumbling under his breath about how the price for gas seemed to keep increasing every time that they came here. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, concentrating.

_Whoosh. Whoosh. _

Lorraine noticed Casey sleeping when she looked in the mirror. Chewing her lip gently, she sighed. She almost didn't want to wake him up when they got home. Peacefully lying there, with his hands rested in his lap, he seemed to look genuinely happy.

-oOo-

Casey almost didn't want to leave the car. Somehow, he knew that once they had all arrived in the house, it would be nothing but questions. Nothing but questions about his accident, the hospital, Grace...and just Casey in general. He really wanted to avoid that.

It started as soon as everyone was in the house. Casey had sneakily begun to head for the stairs, hopefully to escape, but it was futile.

"All right, Case," his father said sternly, bringing him back into the living room. "Do you want to tell us anything about what happened today?"

Casey stared. "Like what?"

His parents exchanged glances for a moment. Lorraine tucked a strand of her light hair behind her ear, biting the side of her lip like she often did – a nervous habit. "Well, honey," she began carefully. "Did you want to tell us anything that's bothering you?"

_What, you mean like you? _

"What do you mean?" He frowned a little, starting to wonder if this was some kind of interrogation. His elbow gave off a sudden itch at that moment and he scratched it awkwardly.

Mr Connor sighed to himself warily and stood to his feet, drawing the curtains together as if to block out any curious eyes that were wandering outside; to protect them. The blurring peach glow of the lampshades illuminated the room, casting his face in sunset.

"Son," he started slowly, staring directly into the boy's eyes. "If we find out that this is a lie –"

"_What's _a lie?"

"About what happened to you at school today, dear," broke in his mother, in a softer tone. It almost seemed as if she knew that Frank would say the wrong thing. He always seemed to.

Casey sighed, lowering his eyes. "Do I have to say it again, Mom?" he asked, in a tired voice. "_Yes_. Yes, it's the truth. I fell down the bleachers, I broke my wrist, and I went to the hospital."

Lorraine sighed. She wanted to believe him. She _really _did – something inside hated herself for _not _believing him...but this had happened before. She knew that her son had been bullied throughout school for a very long time, and despite the fact that Frank never seemed to want to talk about it with her, she was always worried whenever Casey caught the bus to school every morning; wondering if he was going to return home with fresh bruises, or cuts, or...

...broken bones.

"Okay," she said finally, after hesitating.

Casey saw the flickering glaze of insincerity in his mother's eyes and he turned away, placing his hand on the banister rail. "I'm gonna go upstairs," he said quietly, already halfway up the staircase. "I'm a little tired."

There was no reply. He heard the own clomping of his sneakers against the ground as he pulled himself onto the landing and stood in front of his bedroom door; shoulders slumping. He felt as if his whole body was being dragged down by weights. His head was spinning wildly.

"Shit," he muttered, resting his forehead against the door for a moment on the _"Intruders Beware" _banner stuck to the front of it. The glowing alien face stared back at him and he scowled, turning the knob and traipsing inside. His legs gave under him immediately and he collapsed onto his bed, taking care not to land on his injured arm.

The scent of un-made bed sheets and the heat of his lava lamp seemed to relax him for the moment. His head swam with everything that had happened today, and was awkwardly joined by the fact that he would have to face school again tomorrow; his body even more flawed then before.

"Fuck her," he growled bitterly, and closed his eyes, trying to think of something else.

His temples pounded together in time with the rhythmic beating of his wrist, the blood flowing viciously around the areas that hurt him the most. _Typical. _He groaned and sat up, snuggling himself into the pillows and gazing at all of the pictures on his wall, trying to distract himself. His sight crept along until it landed on the black and white portraits of Delilah he had taken himself; natural and posed at the same time.

He blinked, looking directly through them, admiring them. He secretly relished the way that she was applying her lipstick – so carefully – as if she were painting a work of art. At least, that was Casey's opinion anyway. _A work of art..._

"_What a geek..." _

He sighed and rolled over onto his side, trying to ignore the painful words that Delilah had said earlier that day. They just kept ringing in his head over and over again. He wished that he could take a vice to his brain and squeeze all of the humiliation out. He shivered and felt a hot burning feeling behind his eyes. _No..._He turned his face into his pillow, forcing the tears to stop coming. He didn't want to cry. Not because of Delilah.

He could picture her now, with her boyfriend Stan Rosado – that stupid jock head loser – walking together down the corridors together, arms linked and laughing about something. Didn't Delilah know how that he stood next to the lockers, watching Stan with envy, and wishing that he could be in his place? They just looked so happy together...so wonderfully happy...

_If only someone could see me, _he thought, with a roll of his eyes. _I'm just invisible to them...and they looked so happy. _He stared at his lava lamp again, the green liquid bubbling inside, matching how his stomach felt.

_I wonder what it feels like to be that happy. _

Sometimes, late at night, he would lie awake in his bed; covers wrapped around himself in his own little cocoon, as if he were attempting to transform into a better version of himself. It was at these times that he wondered why he thought about Delilah this way. After all, she treated him like shit. Why did he volunteer to take her pictures? Why did he hang them on his bedroom wall? Why did he join the school paper as the photographer, just because _she _was the editor?

_What's **wrong **with me? _

Even when they had been in kindergarten together, she made her own amusement by following him around at break times; teasing him and taunting him. The girls were all the same back then. They relished in punishing the boys for being born the wrong gender, and for playing in the mud. However, one advantage at that stage was the young boy had thought that girls were repulsive, and tried to stay away from her as much as he possibly could.

It still felt the same, now, Casey realised to himself. Although he didn't exactly find Delilah _repulsive _anymore.

_I wish I did, _the boy sighed, closing his eyes and feeling his chest tighten a little. _Maybe then...it wouldn't hurt so much. _

She even managed to strut her way into his dreams, very regularly. He would awake (sometimes in the middle of the night) with visions of her long, luscious ebony hair and her piercing dark eyes dancing in his head. She had an almost exotic quality about her, and Casey would find his cheeks burning – especially when his mother asked him questions about the amount of sheets she found him changing during the week.

During the journalist meetings that the school paper group often had together, he found himself listening to her intently, hanging onto her every word. He liked the way that her voice raised and tilted in tone when she picked the facts apart. Sometimes he would just sit there, listening. She really did have some good ideas – and, of course, she did her research.

He also remembered the time that he had actually got to sit next to her. He had done nothing but gaze at her throughout, soaking in her presence, and smelling that _amazing _smell of tea tree oil – the shampoo that she used. It wafted on the air when he got close enough, and invaded his brain; ceasing anything else worth thinking about in his life.

Tina, the main gossip writer for the paper, had elbowed him hard and told him to pay attention, tossing her ash brown hair behind her shoulders with a sneer. Little did she know that Casey was paying Delilah more attention than _she _was.

_You're never going to have her, you loser, _came the cruel voice again. _She'd rather die than even **think **about dating a pathetic little kid like you. _

Casey lowered his eyes. "I know."

_Screw her, remember? Why even think about her when there's no chance that you'll ever have her? She's a superficial bitch, anyway. She doesn't date geeks._

He collapsed back onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow and moaning. How did things get like this? Why did his life have to turn out the way that it had? How he wished sometimes that he could just have an ideal student life, with good friends, parents that understood and where others actually noticed him. The only upside were his good grades, but for some reason this only attracted torment by others.

"They're just jealous," his mother said a million times a month.

_What's there to be jealous about? _he asked himself sadly, thumping his pillow.

At that moment, there was a loud knocking on his door. He lifted his eyes out of the down and rested his chin on it, listening.

"Yeah?" he said quietly.

"Casey?" came Lorraine's voice. "I'm going to make some dinner. Do you want something?"

The boy's mouth felt dry with disgust at even the thought of eating anything right now. He wouldn't be able to hold it down, he knew. His arm gave off an involuntary throb at that point, as if it were agreeing with him.

"N-no...it's okay, Mom," he replied, muffled by the bedcovers. "I'm not very hungry."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

A hesitant pause. Then: "Oh...all right, honey. If you change your mind, just say so. I'll save you something just in case."

Casey cringed at how worried that she sounded. She had been this way since they had left the hospital – unless she wasn't cooing non-stop to him about Grace. He had simply sat in the back of the car, grinding his teeth together in frustration and fighting the urge to throw something. Now...now, she was still concerned.

_I just want to be left alone, _he told himself, hearing his mother's footsteps descend down the stairs. _All by myself. It's all that I'll ever be. By myself...for the rest of my life. At least that way, I won't get hurt._

-oOo-

Hours later, he frustratingly made a start on some of his homework, practising writing with only one good arm. Sleeping hadn't helped at all. He just couldn't find a comfortable position to lie in without his wrist screaming in pain. His eyelids drooped as he wrote clumsily, and he forced his mind to think of other things – especially not about how tomorrow was going to be at school.

_If I see Grace again, it will be too soon, _he thought grumpily, slamming his science book shut and plopping it on the floor; unable to concentrate any further. _I might crack my skull next time I bump into her._

He looked at his alarm on the side. It read twenty-six minutes past one in the morning. _Christ, _Casey thought, groaning from tiredness. _I really should get some sleep. _So, sighing in defeat, he picked himself up and sat on the bed, starting to undress.

However, he had barely touched the bottom of his shirt before he heard his father's raised voice coming from downstairs. It sounded as if he was arguing – arguing with his mother. Casey frowned, standing up from his bed and letting his shirt drop, listening intently.

_He sounds really pissed about something..._

Getting to his feet, he quietly opened the door and strained to eavesdrop on what they were saying – or shouting – about. He guessed that they thought that their son might be fast asleep now, and dead to the world.

_Even dead people could hear this, _Casey thought, chewing on his lip. He had managed to make it to the end of the landing before he finally got within earshot:

"Why do you always have to make it so _hard _for me, Frank? I always try –"

"You butter him up, is what you do," he heard his father growl, in his firm, steely tone. "You're not _strict _enough with him –!"

"Are you saying I'm _soft, _now?" Lorraine asked incredulously.

"I'm just saying we need to push him in the right direction. He can't seem to do it for himself!"

"What do you mean?" His mother's voice was softer now; curious and questioning.

"All the bullying, broken bones – shutting himself away in his room for hours on end..." (Casey could almost picture him counting them off on his fingers) "It's not normal for a kid his age! He should be going out with friends, to parties – or whatever kids his age do! No wonder he's bullied all the time. He doesn't know how to _be _with people!"

The words stung Casey inside. He sighed and slumped against the banister pole, staring up at the ceiling and trying to push down the feeling of uselessness inside his chest. _Even Dad can't stand the person I am..._

"What about Grace?" Lorraine brought up, always trying to defend. "He's met that girl – isn't that something?"

Casey bashed his head against the railing. _Not Grace **again...**fucks sake, Mom...give it a rest..._

"It's hardly a budding friendship," Frank said, rolling his eyes. "Didn't you hear him in the car? It's like he doesn't want anything to do with her. Or, maybe it's because it's the other way around –"

"Frank..."

"Well, let's face it, Lorraine. Our son doesn't really have a way with the ladies, does he? Think we'll get _any_ grandchildren?"

Casey had heard enough. He couldn't sit there listening anymore. It was just too painful to hear his parents talking about him like this. Not his parents...who were supposed to love him and support him, and accept the person inside of him. They weren't supposed to care...

_They're right, though, _the nasty words sounded, echoing through his ears. _Who the hell would want **your **kids? _

Casey sighed, blinking tears out of his eyes, and returned back to his bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him, so his parents wouldn't know that he had been listening to them. It closed with a tiny _click_, and then, for some reason, that sound caused tears to flood from the boy's eyes and down his cheeks.

He was so sick and tired of this; of not living up to his parent's expectations. He was so exhausted at hearing their complaints and dissatisfactions...why couldn't they just let him get on with his life instead of comparing him to other people?

He rested his back against the door and allowed his legs to give way, so he slid down it. _I'm a waste of their space..._he thought bitterly, bowing his head and holding his hair in his trembling hand. _They don't want me...they hate me...they hate the person I am..._

_So do I._

Casey growled, almost an angry scream. He scrambled to his feet and sat himself on the bed, burying his face in the pillow and yelling into it: "_Go away_!"

_That's your fucking answer for everything – go away! It's **never **gonna fucking go away!_

He sighed miserably, trying to force the tears away and hide himself away from the rest of the world. His eyes hurt when he screwed them up – so much that tiny specks of blue danced in front of his nose. "I hate them," he grumbled, slamming his good fist against the mattress. "I hate _both _of them!"

_Then **do **something about it!_

_What the **fuck **can I **do?**_

_**Run. Away!**_

He opened his eyes, hearing the familiar words that had been saying the same shit to him for so long now. He rolled them around in his head, remembering his thoughts in the hospital lobby.

_Running away...being free...being free from **them**..._

In his misery, he squatted up into a sitting position and plunged through his book bag, searching for something amidst the desperation. This would show them! _They'll be fucking sorry they said that about me...don't they care? Why would they say that about their own son – **why? **_

Pain drove him to finally scramble through the side pocket of his bag, pulling out a pencil sharpener. He stared at it for a while in discovery, then kicked the bag aside and sat down on the bed, prying the screw out of the utensil. It was a little difficult with one hand, and he almost dropped it a few times – as his fingers were trembling – but he finally took it apart and held the small razorblade in his hand.

And did nothing.

He just sat there for God knows how long; just staring at it. All of his angered misery had dissolved a little, and now there was nothing else but self-pity. He felt more tears warming up but he held them back. He stared at the razor in his hand and watched how the lava-lamps golden light reflected from it in the dim.

_They were right..._ he thought sadly, his shoulders sagging. _I'm **not **normal. I'm not like a normal kid. I disappoint them. They're ashamed of the way I am. _

He saw a tiny glimpse of his blue eyes reflecting in the metal, bouncing back at him and freezing his organs inside. He saw his own pain, there, hiding inside his mind. It was too complicated to think about, and he tried to push it away, but:

_They hate me..._

_If they could change me, they could..._

_Change me into the son they never had...the son they want..._

_They won't even notice that I'm gone..._

_They'll find me here..._

He tore his eyes away and stared at the window. Passing cars with glaring headlights zoomed past the closed curtain. He sighed heavily and tried to take his mind off of the fact that he had a sharp razor in his hand.

_What are you waiting for? You've got it – use it!_

_I...I can't..._

He shot a sideways glance at it, and then held it between his forefinger and thumb. He stared at it stupidly, as if he didn't know what he was supposed to do with it.

_Do it._

He bit his lower lip, placing the tip of the blade against the skin of his arm. He didn't want to go straight for anything serious: after all, he was still unsure about this whole idea. _But I have to take some of the pain away..._he thought. _I've heard of other people doing this...maybe it works..._

He clenched his teeth and turned his head away. He wasn't sure how deep he was supposed to drag it. How did he know if it would be enough to help? His fingers were shaking and he had to grip the blade tighter to stop it falling. What if he didn't do it right? The tips of his fingers were turning white...

**_For fucks sake, you little wuss! DO IT! _**

He did it.


	8. Confused

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films.

-oOo-

**Chapter 8 – Confused**

"Ow!" Casey hissed, dropping the blade onto the bed and clutching his arm with a tissue, gnawing his lip and wincing in pain as he collapsed into the covers. It _really _hurt. How was this supposed to help? It just felt as if he'd made things worse.

He groaned as he pulled back the tissue from the wound, the paper sticking a little before he managed to pry it off. Staring at it, it seemed to take a while to realise that this substance had just leaked out of his own body.

"Uhh..." he moaned in disgust, finding it hard to flex the weak muscles in his fingertips. His forearm throbbed and he could imagine the veins pumping more fresh blood inside them. He felt sick. The whole idea of what he had just done made him feel sick. The pain from that blade hadn't helped at all. Not one little bit.

He chewed his lip and drew his knees in close, looking like a shivering foetus buried in the duvet. How had it not made things better? He had read about stuff like this in magazines all the time – all these teenagers – they all claimed that harming yourself made you feel better, and that it distracted you from emotional pain by replacing it with _this. _

_Why the fuck didn't it work?_

And the worst part about it was that he still felt terrible. He still felt the bite of his father's words, not two minutes ago, and now, to top it all off, his skin had been torn apart by a shoddy blade.

_Seriously, _he thought with a sigh, sitting up, still clutching his arm. _What the hell went through my head to make me think that **this **would work? Did I really get driven this far? _

He jumped a little as he heard a knock on the door. His eyes darted to it immediately and he rushed to grab his jacket, which was slung over his chair.

"Casey, honey," called Lorraine through the door. "Dinner's ready. Are you sure that you don't want any, now it's done?"

The boy swallowed bile and tugged on the jacket, being careful to conceal the wound beneath it. He never thought to put a bandage on it. He would have to do it later. He made sure to hide his cast as well. He still couldn't bear to look at it.

"Casey?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want anything?"

"Um..." He hesitated, clearing his throat a little and trying to slow down the rapid beating of his heart. It was then that he realised he was still trembling. He ensnared himself in folded arms, wanting his voice to sound as casual as he imagined. "Um...yeah, sure, Mom..."

Was he even hungry? He didn't feel it. There was a sort of rotten, empty feeling at the bottom of his stomach, but he was sure it wasn't hunger. He closed his eyes, feeling a cold rush sweep over him, as if someone had just thrown a bucket of icy water over the top of his head.

"Oh, are you feeling better?" The relief in her voice made Casey cringe with guilt.

"Y-yeah, a little...I think..."

He could almost picture her smiling on the other side of the door. "That's good. I've made some beef casserole. I'll heat some up for you. I bet you're starving."

_Ugh..._he felt his stomach turn at the mention of "beef casserole". He knew that just by _looking _at it, it would make him want to turn on his heel and chuck everything inside of him into the nearest toilet. Starving? Even the mere thought of shoving something down his throat made him feel queasy.

"Sure, Mom...it sounds great..."

He wanted to kick himself at how shaky his voice was coming out. It sounded as if he had been lying on a vibrating bed for the last twenty minutes. He hoped that his mother couldn't make this out from where she was standing, but it was likely that she had disappeared into the kitchen again by now, anyway.

_I can't let them find out what I've done, _Casey told himself frantically, pulling back his sleeve with a grimace for another look. _I know what they're like...they'll send me to see some shrink or something – that's their answer for everything these days. They think it will be some fucking mental problem. _

_I guess they need **some** excuse, _came the bitter words.

"Fuck you," the boy mumbled, this time, cursing his own self. Deep inside, he _was _angry. He was angry at himself for letting himself go so far as to hurt himself over this. He thought that it would have made him feel better, but it just made him feel even more horrible than before.

_I can't do anything right._

Sighing, he opened the door and trudged down the stairs, his eyes refusing to look up at anyone and anything. He just wanted to sink through the floor and die.

He knew that dinner would be even worse. He would already be able to hear his father's thoughts wafting over to him from the other end of the table, and if they were guaranteed to be anything like they were earlier, then the chances of getting "food poisoning" tonight would be pretty high.

-oOo-

Casey had barely spoken all through dinner. Most of the communication between the family had been rather one-sided anyway (and some part of him knew that his parents were expecting that to begin with). However, he _had _managed to swallow half of the sloppy beef casserole, while the rest of it floated on the plate after a continuation of stabs with his fork.

_I guess it's **something, **_he thought bitterly, scraping the rest into the bin and turning towards the stairs, traipsing back up to his room with his sneakers scuffing the carpet.

Luckily, his parents hadn't asked about (or possibly noticed) the fact that he was wearing his jacket at the table. All throughout the meal he had been expectedly waiting for the comment about getting it covered in mincemeat, but it had never once come into play.

"You look a little pale, Casey," Lorraine had brought up at one point, wanting to break the silence. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"Um hum." He had lied, playing with his food. The mince now looked like how he felt inside – all churned up and gross.

"Sure?"

"Uh huh."

That was it, as far as conversation went. Casey had never felt so dull and unimportant all at once during a meal. His parents never mentioned anything about his broken wrist, or about why he was wearing a garment that was in danger of getting covered in disgusting beef sauce – his mother actually didn't even mention the name "Grace".

The whole thing had felt like one big funeral reception and he just wanted to scuttle away into his room and hide there, at least until school came tomorrow. He finished his science homework at least. Luckily, he had no other work for tonight. He had finished it in second period when Miss Burke had to escort some smartass from the English class.

_Good thing too, _he thought, his eyes blinking with stickiness. _I guess I need some sleep if I want to survive at school. _

Hours later he flopped onto his bed, the pillows cradling his shattered wrist and he stared glumly at his clock, which glowed neon green in the dim light. It read twenty-two minutes past one in the morning, and Casey didn't even feel _close _to being sleepy. He had managed to change into his boxers and kicked his trainers into the corner, in an attempt to make him a little more tired; but with no luck.

He started at his digital watch on the side, the alarm set for seven thirty in the morning. He was going to be shattered tomorrow.

_It **is **tomorrow, _he thought, with a roll of his eyes. He flung his face into the pillows and groaned as his arm gave another twinge of pain. He cursed his mother for making him take those painkillers after dinner. Somehow, they seemed to affect his arm all the more.

And to top everything off, Delilah wanted to meet with all the school press tomorrow to come up with the layout of the next issue. He didn't want her nagging at him if he was too tired to concentrate. That was _all_ that he would need. He laid his camera by his chair so that he wouldn't forget it in the morning.

He had barely managed to close his eyes when a loud ringing suddenly jolted him out of bed. It took him a while to realise that his phone was ringing madly on his desk.

_Huh? _He thought groggily, staggering to his feet and snatching it to his ear with a small yawn. _Who could be calling me in the night? _

"Hello?" he croaked.

"_Casey?" _A whisper slithered down the line.

"Who is this?" the boy answered quietly, noticing that his clock now read four fifty-six and he knew that his parents would be sound asleep.

"_It's me," _came the voice, giggling with amusement at how tired that their receiver sounded. _"Sorry, did I wake you?" _

Casey could have boiled over with rage. _That stupid bitch..._ He gripped the phone tightly in his good hand and snapped: "Grace? What are you doing calling me – ?"

"_I just had to see if you were okay," _she replied, a little sheepishly. _"You looked a bit sick before you left...and...I dunno, you just looked..."_

"Just looked what?"

"_N...nothing. Forget it...I just thought you didn't look so good, that's all..."_

Casey blinked. "Well, I'm fine."

He heard her sigh gently. He couldn't tell if it was from relief, or that she was still not persuaded by what he had just said. _"I just couldn't sleep...you know, I thought that there was something on your mind...and...well, that you might **do **something..." _

_Do something? _The boy stopped breathing for a second, as the words floated around in his head like a runaway balloon. _**Do **something? How...how did she know that I was thinking those things...? How could she tell? _

Picking up his resolve, he swallowed and pressed the receiver against his ear, feeling it begin to warm up. His cut tingled and he glanced down at it. It looked a lot darker now that it was beginning to scab. "What do you mean?"

"_Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm just glad that you're okay..."_

"How did you get my number?" he asked quickly, in a much harsher tone than he had intended.

"_I just called the operator and asked for it. There was only one Frank Connor in this town, so I guessed it had to be **your** place..."_

"And you just _had_ to call me up at five in the morning?" He felt a little awful for sounding so cross with her. After all, she had called him up out of anxiety and not for her own humour (as he guessed that _some _people might have done). Still, he was annoyed that she had woken him up when he was just starting to drift off.

Besides, he didn't _want _her to have his number! He didn't want to have anything to do with her!

"_Hey, I was worried..." _she said, sounding a little hurt. _"I'm sorry if I wasted my concern on you, or anything. I was just..." _

"I don't know why you would be worried about me in the first place," Casey said quietly after a long pause, sighing and flopping down on his bed with his cast dangling over the side. "No one _else_ ever is. Besides, I'm okay."

"_Really?" _she almost whispered. She didn't sound very convinced.

He flipped the underside of his arm with the cut on it over, secretly wondering if she could sense it was there by just talking down the phone to him. "Y-yeah. Really. I'm okay."

_Am I trying to convince myself as well as Grace?_

-oOo-

School had been as hellish as he had imagined it would be the next day. Despite the heat of the day being pretty immense he wore his jacket, hoping it would help to hide the cast a little more, and, more importantly, the scabbed scar. Hiding the cast made walking down the hallways painful, as other students were in such a rush to get to class they didn't see he was injured, and smashed him into the wall numerous times.

He didn't see Grace all morning. Secretly, he was a little pleased. At least she wouldn't fuss over his wrist or insist on walking him to his classes. It was bad enough that she had called him up in the early hours of the morning, just to see if he was "okay", but he didn't need a guide dog leading him around the school.

_Even though I get battered in the hallway, it doesn't make me blind, _he thought sadly, shuffling his sneakers along the hard floor with his eyes on the ground. _It just makes me invisible. _

"Whoa –" he hadn't walked very far when he collided into someone and went crashing to the ground. The hallway was practically empty, and yet he _still _managed to fall down! He must have _really_ not been paying attention.

"Ow!" he groaned, as he had landed on his arm to support his fall. It throbbed with fresh pain and he winced, clutching it tightly. Tears sprang into the corners of his eyes as he sat up, feeling his whole body blush. This was just too much for him to take anymore! How much more pain would he have to endure before God gave him a break?

"Watch it, Casey!" came Stokely's icy growl. "Other people are using the hallway too, or haven't you noticed?"

The boy glanced up at the soft-spoken girl. Her ash brown eyes, ringed with thick, black eyeliner glared down at him sprawled on the floor, looking as pathetic as always. He shivered a little under her stare. Somehow, it made him feel as if he were nothing more than a child who had lost its way. The tears built up behind his eyes.

_Shit. _

"Sorry, Stokely," he mumbled, attempting to rise to his feet. "It was an accident..."

"As always," she retorted, a small, apathetic grin forming at the corner of her mouth.

_Why does she have to make me feel even worse than I already do? _he thought miserably. _I've already been through a lot in the last few days...why does she have to..._

"Hey," she murmured a moment later, in a much kinder voice. "Are you okay?"

He kept his eyes on the ground, looking away and nodding glumly. He sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes, not wanting her to see him break down like this. "I'm fine," he choked.

"You should think about getting up off the floor, you know," she sighed. "Not a good spot to be in a place like this."

It didn't sound as if she were joking around with him, and all of the colour from her voice had been lost. She shrugged her book bag onto her shoulder, her black shirt slipping a little under its weight. There was no effort to try and help him up. She just simply stared at him, almost wondering what he was going to do next.

_Don't bother to help me up, then. Just carry on staring at me. Everyone else is. _

His cheeks burning, he flinched as he scrambled to his feet, his sneakers skidding a little. A faint grimace of pain passed over his features as he clung to the wall, pulling himself up and limping to his locker.

_Thanks for nothing, _he thought unhappily.

"What happened to your arm?" she asked quietly, in an emotionless monotone. She brushed a strand of short, ginger hair out of her eyes and stared intently at it, looking him up and down.

"I broke it," he said simply.

"How?"

_**How? **Who the fuck cares? What kind of question is that?_

He gazed back at her, not really knowing how to reply, or how to take in what she had just asked. How? He noticed the overhead lights reflecting from her black nail polish as she idly scratched her neck. The heavy, silver chains lying there forced him to pull his eyes away and focus on something less foreboding.

"I...I fell down the bleachers."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh."

_She almost looks amused by that, _he thought angrily. _Oh, well, she probably gets her humour around these days on things like tortured baby animals, or something...or seeing me in pain. That's all I am to anyone – one big, fucking joke._

He was just about to walk away when he heard her speak to him again: "Having some problems lately?"

Her voice had returned to that impassive state again. He hated it when she did that. He didn't know what she _meant _exactly when she was talking, or what she was thinking about.

"You _could _say that," he replied, not looking at her. "What else is new, anyway?"

_My problems have more or less come from the embodiment of one person, _he thought viciously. _Stupid bitch...everything just got worse after she came along..._

"Dealing with them in a new way?"

Something in her words made him freeze inside. He chewed on his lip, glancing at his watch and seeing that it was almost lunchtime. He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but by the time he had turned around she was gone. It was so strange – it was as if she had never been there at all.

"At least I'm dealing with my problems," he grumbled to himself, making his way to the library and checking to see that his camera wasn't broken.

-oOo-

"Well, it's about time you got here," sneered Tina as he finally reached the library, just as the lunch bell rang. "We've all been waiting for you!"

Casey gasped for air. "S-sorry...I –"

"Delilah's totally fumed," she scolded, dragging him by the sleeve of his jacket, almost causing him to stumble face-forward onto the floor. "She's so pissed at you –"

"_Sorry._"

"Don't you know any other words?" she spat, giving him a dirty look before opening the door to the library.

It was very rare that the librarian let them use the facilities like this for the paper, as they didn't always like to keep quiet about it. However, there was a small private room for study right at the back that was usually saved for when students practised for presentations and for the paper's meetings. At least, in this way, they wouldn't have that snotty woman glaring down her nose at them whenever they raised their voices above a whisper.

"He's _finally _here," announced Tina with a roll of her eyes, entering the back room. Casey followed suit, a faint blush on his cheeks.

"Well, well, well," Delilah's voice scorned at him, turning up her perfect nose as she shuffled through several sheets of paper, with outlines of black boxes printed on them. "Look who thinks he's _so _important he just _had _to show up fashionably late."

Casey said nothing. He simply kept his eyes on the ground and slumped clumsily into his seat. He didn't want to object. _After all, _he thought, chewing his torn nails. _It's my fault anyway. _

The meeting seemed to go on for a while, but for some reason, Casey just couldn't concentrate on anything that anyone was saying. It all seemed that they were speaking some dead language, or perhaps it was because Casey was still drowsy after he had been woken up by Grace's stupid phone call.

_How is it that everything bad that's happening always leads back to her?_

"Ow!" he suddenly cried out, receiving a nudge in the arm from Tina. The small stabs of pain vibrated up his wrist and he clutched it, wincing.

"Pay attention, dork-wad," she sneered.

Casey sighed. "Sorry, I –"

"Quit daydreaming already, we're actually _trying _to do some work! And stop saying that Goddamn word!"

"Casey," and this time, it was Delilah's smooth but spiky voice, dripping like honey (or was it poison?). "Did you even hear what I just asked you?" She sounded unimpressed; almost as if she would throw something across the room at him if he said 'no'.

Casey swallowed, biting his lip from his throbbing wrist. "I..."

However, just then, the whole atmosphere changed between them. Casey saw Delilah's dark eyes flicker to his wrist, and her glare softened. "Oh, erm," she mumbled, tapping the cap of her pen against her cheek thoughtfully. "Casey...what did you do to your arm?"

The boy blinked in surprise. _Did she just ask me...what I **think **she just asked me? _"Um...I broke my wrist," he said slowly.

She clenched her teeth, imagining the scene in her head. Casey couldn't tell if she was sending across sympathy or pity. He hoped that it wasn't the latter. The last thing that he needed was Delilah feeling sorry for how pathetic that he had been.

"Bad luck," she said quietly, then: "will you still be able to take the pictures?"

"Pictures?" _Shit. Was this what she was talking about before?_

"The pictures for the pep rally, stupid," Tina grumbled under her breath, rolling her eyes in his direction.

Casey felt his cheeks burning. "Oh...right..."

"I need a group photo of the football team, and one of the cheerleaders as well for the rally page," Delilah explained, with unexpected patience in her voice. "I was just wondering if you could still do it, since your arm –"

"No, it's okay," he blurted out, still gazing into her calm face. "T-that...that would be okay..."

_She cares? _he thought, his heart pounding. _She noticed that I was hurt? She actually **cared **about it? _He couldn't even believe what had just happened. _Did I imagine all of that? Was I really daydreaming, like Tina said? _

But he knew that he wasn't. He swallowed his breath and paid full attention to his crush as she continued with her meeting. There was a strange kind of ringing in his ears, but he chose to ignore it, letting Delilah's sweet voice block it out.

-oOo-

He actually, for once in a very long time, left school that day feeling a little more enlightened inside. Delilah had noticed him – she had even worried about him hurting himself even more, because of his injury! When had she ever noticed him before? In a good way?

_Practically never, _he thought, with a small smile. _Until now. _

He shrugged his bag onto his shoulder, feeling happier than he had felt in a long time walking out of the school gates and heading for home. His heart felt lightweight, and yet heavy at the same time, and there was a strange, giddy feeling in his stomach. Just thinking about what Delilah had said made him smile shyly to himself.

He was just about to leave the main exit when he heard a familiar voice coming from his left – a girl's voice. Furthermore, it sounded as if she was giggling nervously, and that she wasn't alone in the corridor. Another voice, a little deeper, was muffling inaudibly along with hers.

Curious now, Casey peered around the corner, expecting to see a couple – perhaps even Stan and Delilah – leaning against the wall, gazing into each other's eyes and completely lost in their own little, perfect, _happy _world. But it wasn't Delilah's voice.

He felt his mouth open in surprise when he saw _her, _tucking dark strands of hair out of her eyes, smiling flirtatiously. She was clutching a bunch of science textbooks to her chest, seeming to be teasing the boy in front of her as she blocked him out. She kept staring at the floor, in an attempt to hide her blushing face as the boy moved in closer, so they were barely inches apart.

It was then that Casey recognised him from Miss Burke's English class. He was that smartass kid that she kicked out for being so rude, and for disrupting her lesson. He had never found his jokes to be particularly humorous. He stood watching him now, with his slightly baggy clothes and his perfect, spiky hair.

He looked like the kind of guy that any girl would _love_ to be seen with.

All at once, for some strange reason, the glorious, excited flip in Casey's stomach fluttered into a dissolve, feeling hollow and hard. He glanced away at his untied sneakers, lurking behind the wall. The sounds of her giggles floated viciously through his ears and he spun away, heading towards the exit.

_What did she think she was doing? _he wondered, a rage filling his insides, igniting spite. _I didn't think that she was the kind of girl to be doing things like that – and especially with jerks like **him! **What's her fucking deal? _

The boy stormed away, pushing open the back door with a small growl. His spirits had completely fallen from the pedestal that they had been held so high upon not five minutes ago, and were now settling in the bottom of his chest like dust. He was angry – angry at Grace for making him feel so terrible, and angry at her for behaving this way.

_I don't want her to be like Tina, or all the other girls in this school, _he thought bitterly. _I want her to be what that I thought that she was – **different! **I want her to stay away from punks like him...I want her to show everyone that..._

Suddenly, he stopped, thinking hard. What was he doing? Thinking about what he _wanted _from Grace? _Grace? _He didn't want her for anything! Why was he thinking this now? Why did he even care at all?

_Jesus Christ, haven't you figured it out yet? _came his spiteful thoughts, echoing triumphantly in his head.

_Figured out what?_

_Oh, **come on, **kid! It's so obvious that you're jealous!_

_Jealous? _The word followed Casey home, until he opened his front door, ignoring the blunt greeting from his parents and as he dumped his bag onto the floor, staring out of the window.

_What the hell am I jealous of?_


	9. Abused

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films.

-oOo-

**Chapter 9 – Abused**

That night, Casey tried to go to sleep early, but as usual it didn't do him the slightest bit of good. Perhaps he was suffering from a very mild case of insomnia, and could only drift off to sleep in the early mornings.

_Lucky me, _he thought with sarcasm. _That's all I need when I need to get up for school at the break of fucking dawn. _

Perhaps it was because he had been having a lot of problems on his mind lately; what with his wrist, his parents constantly smothering him, and now Grace. All of these things were happening far too close together, and he must be losing sleep over all of it. The only real thing that seemed to help him pass the time was surfing the net, or doing some homework. He was fortunate that Herrington gave their students so much, or else he would be stumped for activity.

No matter how much he tried to focus on his English assignment, he just couldn't concentrate on anything else but Grace and that loser, huddled together in that corridor, thinking that Casey wasn't watching.

_It was a wonder that they could even breathe, _he thought spitefully, scribbling furiously in his file. _They were that close together, I thought that they would emerge together and become one, big, fucking mistake._

_Wow, **someone's **pissed. _The thoughts returned, but this time, it felt that Casey was in control of this one.

_I **am **pissed, _he realised, chewing on the cap of his biro. _But why?_

He couldn't be jealous – not about this. Why would he _need _to be? Why did _he _care how that Grace presented herself? He didn't even give a _shit _about her, or what she did, or what she would ever do in the future. He hated her! And as for that guy she was with, why should he be jealous of _him? _He was obviously a jerk, screwing around and wasting his time just like all the other "guys". Why should he be jealous of _that? _

Perhaps it was attention seeking. The idea crossed his mind as he continued with his work, considering the suggestion. Perhaps, now that he didn't need any help with his wrist any more, she wasn't interested in helping him anymore. Besides, after all of the times he had brushed her aside; giving her the cold shoulder, it was unlikely that she would carry on helping him.

_Why do I always push people away from me? _he thought bitterly, sighing and glancing at the scar on his arm, the remaining scab flaking away every night. _What would she think if she saw this? What would she think of **me? **_

The fleeting idea of cutting himself again transported across his brain for a few seconds. If he wanted Grace to see that he was still upset – still in pain – and angry about what he had seen her doing, why shouldn't he do it again, to get her attention?

_N...no, _he admitted, disappointment plummeting through his body and resting in his toes. _No. I can't do that. I don't think that I could ever do that again to myself...it hurts too much..._

_Why am I so fucking jealous?_

It was so frustrating. He slammed his pen down onto his sheets and buried his face in his arms, groaning. Sitting here thinking about it wasn't going to do any good. If his mind rested, he might not think of Grace so much, and the whole problem would mean nothing in the morning.

He crawled under his duvet and snuggled into his pillows, managing to find a comfortable spot where it didn't aggravate his wrist so much. He set his alarm and closed his eyes, but all that he could see was the disgusting eggshell green walls of Herrington High, the concaved, metal lockers littering the hallways, crammed with books and all kinds of stuff students brought to school, to hide away from eagle-eyed parents at home.

He saw soft, brown locks and smelt the smell of strawberries. Soft, angelic giggles floated on the breeze and male laughter echoed along with it. He saw dark eyes mingling together and sparks being formed, bringing gentle sighs and unspoken words.

He moaned and rolled over.

_I'm so screwed up._

-oOo-

The rest of the week came and went. Casey didn't see Grace at all in the corridors – not even in science class. Why did it feel as if she was avoiding him all of a sudden? Did he do anything wrong? He cast his mind back as far as it would go, trying to remind himself of the last thing that he said to her.

_That's right, _he thought. _That phone conversation...when she woke me up...she said to me:_

"_Sorry if I wasted my concern on you, or anything..."_

His heart sank. No _wonder _she didn't want to talk to him, or see him anymore. He was always so ungrateful from her aid, pushing her away, that she must have given up on him. She must have decided that he wasn't worth her trouble anymore, and she shouldn't waste her time.

"Ohhh..." the boy moaned miserably, flopping down in his bed, noticing the gloomy sky hovering over the roofs of the street houses outside. Somehow, this solution hurt more than the self-inflicted injury he had done days ago. Hell, it even felt worse than his wrist being snapped in two like a pencil.

Saturdays always marked the excitement of the week, when school had finished and it was time to relax, meet friends, watch television – or _whatever _kids did to entertain themselves. Casey could only imagine what _some _people would do for fun. He sighed and drummed his fingers on his knee, staring at the ceiling.

He heard a knock on the door. "Casey?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Are you awake?"

He rolled his blue eyes into the back of his head and slammed his pillow over his face. _Geez, Mom, don't you think that I would be awake if I answered? _Sometimes his parents could be so retarded. "Yes."

"Good," said Lorraine, in a scarily perky tone. "Me and your father are going out to do some grocery shopping, and then probably eat out afterwards. Will you be all right fixing yourself something?"

_Fix myself something? _the boy scoffed inside. _You just said this very second that there was no food in the house. _

"Sure, Mom," he sighed, rolling over again and staring at the wall, his sight dancing over the photographs of Delilah's perfect charcoal complexion.

"Positive?"

"_Yes." _

"Okay, honey, we shouldn't be too long. I've taken my cell phone with me, just in case you need to contact me. Oh – and if you go out anywhere, don't forget to take the spare key, so you don't lock yourself out."

"Okay," he agreed, sounding exasperated. _Every _time that his parents left the house, they always went over the same precautions. It was enough to drive him insane. Why couldn't parents just say things _once _and then that was the end of it?

'_Cos they're parents, _he thought glumly.

"'Bye then, sweetie!"

"'Bye," he mumbled, with no emotion or meaning in his voice. He rolled over into the pillows again; his chin and lips becoming buried in feather down. He sighed and stared silently out of his window, watching his father's car pull out of the driveway and onto the street.

Was he just going to stay upstairs all day, staring out of the window and doing nothing? It seemed like such a boring thing to pass his time. But, then again, he couldn't really think of anything else to do. He had finished all of his homework last night, attempting to block out unwanted memories, and he wasn't really hungry.

He watched the faint sun's rays shine through the half-closed curtains, creating dappled shadows along the carpet. He felt as if he had been sitting in his room for a year. He hadn't left the house in weeks, except to go to school and that visit to the hospital. Everything lying in his room reminded him of something painful. Delilah, his sling; thrown over his chair, and the phone.

_Grace. _

She hadn't called him since that one morning. He often sat down and wondered why. When he first met her, she was always fussing over him, ringing him up, and asking him if he was okay. Now...nothing. What had changed?

_Maybe it's a **good **thing she hasn't talked to me since, _he decided, after considering it for a moment. _Now maybe she'll finally leave me alone. I mean, it's what I've wanted from the start, right? _

He growled in annoyance, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was thinking about her _again. _Why did everything nowadays revolve around her? Why did he have to meet her in the first place? She had messed him up even more than he already had been from the beginning.

_I have to get out of this house, _he thought to himself, thumping a closed fist softly against the pillow. _I have to get out before I explode. I can't stand thinking about this stuff..._

He traipsed downstairs and grabbed the spare house key from the shelf. He would only go for a walk – just to take his mind off of everything. After all, it was better than spending eternity in his room, trying to forget his life.

He sighed and pulled his jacket on. Just because the sun was shining, it didn't mean the cold couldn't creep through.

-oOo-

The streets and driveways near his home seemed deserted, which was a little strange, especially on a Saturday morning. Casey had always known that his street was quiet, but he expected to see a little more than two or three people outside.

He didn't know where that he was going, and he hadn't planned on setting a time for coming back. He just wanted to wander. He wanted to stretch his legs further than down the stairs and around the confined space of his bedroom. He wanted to experience a little freedom by himself without being suffocated or hurt by others.

He looked across the street and saw a couple of guys from the football team laughing and messing around on the community basketball court. It was painted with florescent white and yellow lines, so it was made to look like the real thing. However, due to the amount of times it had been used, it had all begun to weather away by stampeding feet. Many kids had complained to their council to sort it out and get it repainted, but it never had.

Glancing his eyes away and forcing his feet to keep moving, he began to take the shortcut across the court, trying to avoid their stares. He knew how much that they loved to bully and annoy him, and although he didn't know them personally, or know their names, he still hated them.

It was only when he thought that he had made it safely across, when he felt a strong hand snatch his jacket and spin him around, almost pulling him off his feet.

_Shit. Maybe I **should **have just gone the long way round after all. How could I have been so fucking stupid?_

"Whoa –" he gasped out, looking up at a boy almost twice his size and with three times as much muscle. He tried to catch his breath, but it was lodged in his throat. Swallowing couldn't free it. He wondered if he should make a run for it, or if that would just make his consequences direr.

"Yo, shit-for-brains," he mocked, his voice mean and sturdy, like his face. "Where you headed?"

Casey couldn't speak. "Err..."

"You don't know where you're going?" Another one of the boys lumbered over, an amused smirk slapped across his face, bouncing a basketball against the tarmac. It made horrible, thundering thuds whenever it leapt back into his fingers.

"I –"

"Maybe we can help you," the boy with the ball sneered, grabbing Casey's shoulder and spinning him on his heels, so that he was whirled around in a direction he didn't want to go.

The impact of the wall was so sudden Casey had no time to react. All he felt was the throbbing of his cheek, pounding against rough brick. The bullies had slung him straight into the side of the court building like a pile of rags.

"Ughhh..." he groaned, his teeth scraping against the skin of his face. He could feel grazes burning near his temple and he gasped in pain.

"There you go!" one of them sang. "No charge for delivery, huh?"

_I forgot how corny jocks can be with their insults, _Casey thought, wishing he could roll his eyes.

The helpless boy pushed his hands to the wall in an effort to spring away. Perhaps going out for a walk this morning was _not _the best idea that he had had in a while. It made more sense now just _why _that he stayed inside all of the time.

"Hey, you're not going anywhere, you punk-ass son of a _bitch_!" the first bully spat, shoving him against the wall again.

Casey screamed in pain. The jock had managed to press him so hard against the brick that his wrists had unwillingly supported his weight, including his broken one. Tears sprang into his eyes and he moaned, struggling desperately. The pain was so intense – it was as if all the muscles had snapped.

"Get off," he ordered weakly, through their laughter.

"Cryin', huh?" they chortled, mockingly ruffling his hair. "Didn't like the service, _huh_?"

"My wrist..." he tried to explain through clenched teeth, but whatever he had said was immediately cut short by a jock deliberately tossing a basketball into his gut, winding him. The force caused him to double over. He was sent wheezing and groaning to the hard floor, struggling to get his breath back, but ended up sounding like a sick seal.

They stood over him now – he could tell. He was suddenly clouded in shadow, and they blocked out the little light that the sun was offering. His wrist pounded, feeling numb. He wondered with despair if it had been broken all over again.

"_Please..._" He wasn't sure if they heard him or not. His lungs felt bruised all over – it hurt to breathe.

"C'mon, get _up, _then, you little pussy!" one of them retorted, showering him with fresh spittle. "We gotta use this court for practise, pillow-biter!"

_Practise? _Casey thought bitterly. _I feel as if **I've **just been used for practise. Hopefully...they've gotten bored of me..._

He struggled to rise to his knees, but the intensifying pain vibrating through his body caused him to stop. He made a low, whimpering sound in his throat that only brought humour to his tormentors.

"Jesus _Christ! Get **up!" **_

_Get up, you little wuss! Do as they say! Fuck's sake – don't just **lie **there! **Run away! **_

He blinked through his tears. "I..."

_Smack! _The blow came so quickly he didn't even have time to dodge it. He cried out as a foot flew into his nose, with such force he was aware of a bright, white light enveloping his eyes. A crushing pain vibrated in his nose and he felt blood run down his lips. He could taste it, and tears burned behind his lids.

"S-stop it...!"

All he heard was laughter. At the harshness of it, he felt no better than something that they had just found underneath the bottom of their trainers, and he cringed into himself, wanting to evaporate into dust, dried up by the sun.

He groaned, attempting to sit up squint through his pulsing lids. His whole body ached. Although he didn't want to, he made a brave effort to peer upwards at his torturers, to check to see if they hadn't scampered off before it got too ugly.

However, he didn't see them.

He saw _her. _

_Grace...?_

-oOo-

"Casey...? Casey? Oh, God, are you okay...?"

_Okay...? _his mind repeated, angered by the redundant question. _Okay...? Am I okay? Do I **fucking **look okay?_

"W...what?" he asked in a groggy voice, clogged by how heavy that his nosebleed was flowing. His head was pounding so hard he could have sworn that his eardrums were replaced by clanging cymbals. His cheeks were damp and grazed. Looking up at her, he vaguely saw her hiss through her teeth, just by the mere sight of him.

_Do I look that bad...?_

"Jesus..." she almost whispered, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. "What the fuck did they _do _to you...?"

"I..." he wanted to reply, but found no words wishing to come out and explain. They were trapped in his closing throat. What _had _happened? What had he done to _cause_ this to happen? All he had wanted to do was take a walk!

_One little shitty walk, and they can't even leave me alone for **that! **_he thought crossly. _Why do they always have to make my life a living hell?_

"Here," the boy heard her murmur, sounding a little frightened. "Here...let me help you up."

But, as soon as he felt her slip her hands around his trembling arm, a sharp ember of hot rage shot through his whole body, furnace flames blazing in his lungs, ceasing his breathing into short, raggedy pants of fury. Why was she here now? Why didn't she help him before?

_She was there..._he realised, grinding his teeth. _She was here again, and something bad happened...but...what was even worse was the fact that she was...there...she was standing **right there...**and she didn't do anything to **fucking stop it! **_

"Oh, _now _you want to help!" he croaked out, his voice breaking miserably. "You want to help me now that the _fucking _show's over..."

Grace felt her mouth drop open in surprise, but she never let go of her hold. "W-what...?" she stammered. She was staring at him strangely, as if he was a new person entirely, and by the intensity of it, Casey could tell that she wasn't impressed.

But then again, neither was _he. _

"You," he growled, managing to gather himself to his feet – with her help, of course – and trembled unstably on them. He repeated the accusation again, fiercer this time; colder: _"You..._"

Grace glanced away, unable to avoid noticing the droplets of dark blood scattered across the gravel ground. She didn't say anything.

"H...how _could _you?" and this time, Casey's words were quieter; more injured. His voice twisted and snapped into disbelief. Silence was around them both. It swallowed everything that they were thinking, and everything that had happened in the past week, scooping it all up and throwing it all back in their faces, as sharp as razor blades.

"Casey..."

"Why'd you just _stand _there?" His throat croaked, and Grace wondered if he was on the verge of tears. She could already see the faint stains of previous grief shed, carved into the dirt that shrouded his cheeks. "Why did you let those jerks _do _that to me?"

Silence. She looked away.

"_How?_"

The question seemed to hit her like a hard, cold slap across the face. For a second, she wondered if he _had._ How? It somehow sounded worse than that of the simple, feeble "why". It sounded more personal; deepening. Almost as if you had done the most God-awful, unthinkable act in the world. It left her feeling deeply ashamed.

Was that his intention?

"How?" she repeated, twisting her features into confusion, as if it would soften her punishment.

"You were just _standing _there, Grace!" Casey burst, his shouts sounding mega-phonic in his ears. His bruised hands were clenched at his sides, the blood dripping through them and gathering in his fingers; the knuckles turning white. The expression on his face was calm and neutral at first glance, but when one looked closer, the fire from his chest was now gleaming in his eyes.

Grace blinked. "I...Casey, I..."

"You just stood there, _watching _them! _Watching_!" He stiffly wiped some blood away that was running down his lips. "You just watched them smash the shit out of me! How could you do that – why didn't you _help _me?"

She sighed again, shaking her head slowly. "Casey, you still don't understand..."

"Understand _what?_" He took a step back from her – almost cautious of her – as if he was expecting _her _to tackle him next. "The only thing I understood was how it felt to be half _killed_!"

"Casey, I'm sorry it happened, but –"

"I didn't even _do _anything," he mumbled, casting his eyes to his filthy sneakers. His tone vibrated in Grace's ears, and her heart twanged with pity for the boy. "I never do."

"_Exactly._"

The word caught him off guard, and he gazed up at her indignantly for an answer. She noticed glimmers of shining, crystal tears reflecting in his eyes, and for a moment she felt almost glad. Those eyes always seemed to send something across to her, for some reason. She was pleased that something – even misery – was shielding it from her.

"What does _that _mean?" he asked coldly.

"You never _do _anything, silly," she said, in a surprisingly calm voice. "You just _let _them beat you to a pulp. You don't fight back –"

"Fight_ back_?" he asked incredulously, almost laughing at her suggestion. "How the _fuck _could I fight back? They were so much bigger and stronger than _me_! There were _three _of them– what the fuck could I _do_?"

"Well, you could have done _something_!" she spat now, her fists beginning to clench again, the angelic glow gradually becoming present. "Instead of just _lying _there, taking it – making them hit you _more_ – "

Casey's face burned with shame. "Who are _you _to talk?" he growled, fighting back tears. "_You _could have done something! What kind of a psycho watches something like _that _and doesn't help?" His voice broke at the end and he looked away, shaking all over.

There was silence for a rather long time. Grace could only hear the pounding of her own heart, beating with pity for Casey and his pain. She knew that he wouldn't like that – she knew that he wouldn't want her to feel sorry for him. But how could she help it? He looked so helpless...

A spark of anger burned inside of her as she reflected on what he had just said. "I'm _not _a psycho," she whispered, in a small, croaked voice.

He glanced at her. Why did it feel that so much history was behind that?

_She's probably been called that before, _he thought. _Crazy bitch. _

"Yes, you are," he murmured. Blood dripped from his lip.

He saw the heat blazing in her eyes even before she was directly in front of him.

_Smack!_

He blinked against the slap in shock, reeling and wondering for a moment what had just happened. It didn't seem real until he felt the burning sting strike him and he placed his hand over it.

"What was _that _for?"

"FUCK YOU!" she screamed, directly into his face. Her shouts rang in his ears and he winced against the volume, backing off a little. He stared back into her smouldering, dark eyes. She almost looked murderous.

He wasn't even sure if it was humanly possible for a girl to be as angry as this. Since when did girls like Grace ever get _this_ angry? He had never even seen _Delilah_ this mad before in public – she always liked to keep her cool; keep her reputation as perfect and clean as she was.

But Grace...she was different. She didn't care what people thought if she screamed her lungs out. She didn't _care. _She didn't mind if people gave her dirty looks on the street, or turn their noses up at her as she bellowed her beliefs. She was fiery and feisty; never anyone's first impression.

Casey was surprised to find that he _liked _that.

It was only when he came back down to earth again that he realised she had been screaming full-on at him for at least two minutes straight. He shook his head a little, clearing away all of the empty thoughts, and focused his attention on her once again.

Her soft, brown locks stuck to the cold tears on her face. "You're not even listening to me," she growled. "Why would you say something so _horrible _to me, Casey?"

_Horrible? _Casey thought, taken aback. _She can talk some **shit! **_

"You're the one that left me here to _die_!" he protested, still holding his cheek.

She choked on a laugh and rolled her eyes, glancing away. "I'm not your babysitter, Casey," she replied, shaking her head. "I can't help you all the time! You're going to have to learn to fight back yourself!"

"But I _can't_!" he whined, becoming and sounding desperate. "You could have helped me – you were _standing _right there!"

"Casey –"

"I don't know what to _think _about you!" he blurted out; his heart saying 'yes' and his head saying 'no' to his choice of words. "You say that you want to be my friend, but then you leave me lying there to get beaten up by some jerks I didn't even _do _anything to!"

She blinked patiently, listening.

"I mean...didn't you care? Did you _want _me to get hurt?"

"Of course not," she murmured quietly.

"Maybe it's just because you've forgotten all about me," he whispered coldly, wincing as his wrist gave off another throb of burning pain.

She stared very hard at him, as if she could see directly though him and was trying to analyse what he meant. The fire in her irises died a little and her mouth opened a little. Casey could see her fists relaxing.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Forgotten...all about –?"

"I mean, my wrist is..." he glanced at it feebly, bruised and battered from the ambush of thugs, and sighed. "..._was, _getting better...now there's no reason to feel guilty about what you did anymore. I mean...like just now...trying to make me stronger so you don't have to protect –"

"What are you _talking _about?" she cried, animating wildly with her hands and gaping with maddened eyes. "Casey, I don't even understand what you're _saying!_"

"I mean I _saw _you, yesterday!" he shot back, a pained chime ringing in his words. "After school by the lockers...with that guy!" He wiped another trail of crimson fluid that was trickling out of his left nostril.

She blinked and went rigid, paling a little. She chewed on her lip, embarrassment showing on her cheeks as they glowed a radiant pink. "You...you saw that?" she whispered, twiddling her fingers and staring at her shoes.

Casey didn't answer. Only a tiny nod was his reply, and he sniffed. "I suppose...you would rather spend time with him," he mumbled, some words incoherent. "I mean...he didn't look as if _he _needed taking care of...perhaps you _are _tired of playing the babysitter...and you want someone stronger to take care of _you _for a change..."

Grace's heart soaked up the misery in Casey's like a sponge. No wonder the boy was always traipsing around with a sullen look on his face. Not only was he unable to fight back and to simply give up – because he was so used to it now – but inside, deep inside, he perhaps knew that because of this, he could never have the chance to show anyone that he could take care of _them. _He could never have the chance to protect someone.

No wonder he thought himself useless. He had always told himself that he was weak, but now he believed it so much that he just didn't want to try anymore. He didn't want to fight back, because he believed that he couldn't. She could see it now.

"Casey..." she whispered, tears dancing in her eyes.

All she heard from him with a hollow sigh. He numbly rubbed softly at the scarlet mark on his face, where she had slapped him. It was then that she gazed at him, and noticed just how hurt that he was. The cuts, bruises and bloody gashes were nothing compared to what he must be feeling inside...how lonely he must always be...

Before Casey could even breathe he felt the girl's warm arms fling around his shoulders and squeeze him tight into an embrace. There was no need for words. Surprise engulfed him and he swallowed, trying to find his voice. Nothing came out.

"Everyone's a little weak sometimes," she said gently, into his ear.

Casey made a small choked noise in the back of his throat, still amazed that Grace was actually _hugging _him. After everything he had said...and he was getting _this. _It didn't make sense.

Unable what to say, he nodded, feeling a cold sensation creep over him as all of the heat rushed to his face.

"Come on," she said kindly, kissing him softly on the cheek. "Let's talk somewhere."

Again, with no words to say, he followed her, feeling dazed. It was almost as if he were being led there by some invisible force, wrapped around him like a piece of string.

Stumbling after her clumsily, he briefly touched the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him. It had taken place of the slap, covering it up like a sugar-coated blanket. His head hurt a little. It almost seemed like a dream.

_She's so complicated..._he thought, wanting to shake himself of the addictive confusion. _I don't know what to think of her sometimes...she's like a drug..._

He was still wondering what had happened when Grace slipped her hand into his, and led the way to her house.


	10. Accepted

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films. The characters Carla and Rachel belong to me.

-oOo-

**Chapter 10 – Accepted**

It was surprisingly quiet in Grace's house. Nothing like what Casey had imagined. He had pictured half a dozen screaming siblings dashing like mad ants around the living room whilst their parents screamed bloody murder after them. He wasn't exactly sure why he got that impression.

Perhaps it was because Grace seemed distant all of the time. If she _did _have a big family, would she have ever been ignored?

Casey stared through bruised eyes at the many family photos that littered the dressers and mantelpiece, searching to see if he could possibly be right. A small, dark haired girl who looked as if she was about eight or nine years old grinned back from the picture; pigtails and all. It didn't look like the ruckus-like family he had conjured.

He shifted uneasily on the leather couch, waiting for Grace to dump her bag and coat in the hallway. His wrist throbbed again and he sighed, smothering the pain with a fluffy pillow.

Grace emerged a few moments later, a small, forced smile on her face. "Want a drink?"

"Um," Casey stumbled, wondering what she meant exactly by a _drink. _"N-no, that's okay..."

"Non-alcoholic?" she added in a sing-song voice, noticing the look on his face.

"Really," Casey said, trying not to smile, "I'm okay."

She nodded, pressing her lips together, getting the picture. She proceeded to clasp her hands together over and over again nervously as she headed into the kitchen to get something for herself. "Just make yourself comfortable," she shouted back over her shoulder.

_Make myself comfortable? _Casey thought to himself, swallowing. _I've just been torn limb from limb. How am I supposed to get comfortable? _

He was finding it hard to feel relaxed in a girl's house anyway. Especially when it was just the two of them. No one else around.

_Hey, it's Grace, remember? _he reminded himself, allowing himself to calm down. _What's she going to do? _

The silence was making him feel even worse than he already did. Something in the back of his head was telling him to turn tail and run – or limp – out of the front door, back to the safety of his bedroom so he could lock himself away and not be hurt again.

Why had he even gone outside in the first place? On a _Saturday morning? **Alone**? _He should have known it wasn't safe.

"Is this your sister?" he asked quietly, staring at the pigtailed girl in the picture; grinning cheekily and showing missing teeth.

"Huh?" she hollered back, sounding as if she was struggling with something.

"In the picture here," he replied. "Is it your sister?"

He heard her laugh nervously. "Oh, shit, no. That's me!"

Casey blinked, staring at the young girl as if seeing her in a new light. "Oh."

"_**Oh?" **She says something like that and the best that you can say is **"oh?" **_He felt as if he wanted to kick himself. Maybe _this _was the best time to scramble out of the house. But instead, he didn't. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"I thought it might be...it's just that you look a lot like her, so...I just wondered if it was...I was doubtful – but I just wanted to check...but I guess not..."

_What the fuck are you **saying? **Shut up, damn you, stop talking **now! **Shut up before it gets worse! _

"What are you saying?" she called back, through strained grunts and smothered giggles.

"Nothing..." he trailed off now, slumping back carefully into the comfort of the leather couch, surrounding himself by pillows and trying to ignore the burn in his cheeks. Why did he always have to do that? Sometimes his brain simply turned to fudge and he sounded like a babbling idiot.

_I hate it. Screw you, communications skills. You can go to hell. _

He winced as he felt his stomach let off an involuntary throb – most likely where one of those jerks had driven their foot into earlier. Why was he such a target for things like that? Why always him, and no one else? Sometimes it seemed that it was a one-sided battle between the rest of the world and himself. Him and him alone.

Sometimes he even thought that Grace was against him.

"Back," Grace's voice drifted back into the room, holding two glasses of fizzy liquid in her hands. "I felt bad, so I got you something anyway," she said, smiling uneasily. "I hope you like cherry-cola."

"Thanks," the boy almost whispered, trying to smile without it hurting his jaw. He took the glass from her and held it between his fingers, staring at it stupidly.

"You okay?" Grace asked, sipping the brown beverage with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged a little, still staring into the glass. "I guess."

There was another uncomfortable silence. Casey hated them with a passion, especially in a strange house that he had never been in before, or sitting with someone whom he wasn't completely comfortable with. Grace was one of those people. He felt as if he couldn't tell her everything about himself, or what he thought – in fear of her laughing in his face. He couldn't cope with that; not now. Not whilst he had already been kicked to the kerb.

"Look..." she sighed, shifting on the couch; closer to him. "I know what those guys did to you was disgusting..."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

"...but there's no reason to let them continue hurting you inside, y'know?"

He turned to look at her; confused blue eyes mixing together with the warmth of hers. Continue hurting him? How could she understand that this pain felt numb now? After all the years of abuse...how could he just shrug it off when it was happening all the time?

He felt his cheeks burning again and he glanced away, squeezing the glass tighter, as if attempting to will the humiliation away. "Huh?"

"Lighten up," she laughed, squeezing his forearm, but however pulled it away when he grunted in pain from the touch. "Sorry..."

"It's okay..." he sighed, although he still wouldn't look at her.

She seemed to stare at him as he turned away. It was a calculating stare, as if she were trying to sense his emotions just by watching the movements of his eyes, and the shallowness of his breath. He was so uneasy...so uncomfortable...it must still be about earlier, and what happened at the court...

...and what she had done.

"Aren't you thirsty?" she questioned, noticing, from out of the corner of her eye, that he hadn't even touched his cola.

Her only response was a tiny shrug. He had lost all method of speaking with her – his tongue was clamped to the roof of his mouth and he was incapable of answering. He continued to gaze into the speckling fizz, as if searching for something in there.

"You're acting strange," she brought up, rather bluntly, "have I done something wrong?" Her last words were filled with a hint of distain; so much so that Casey glanced up at her quickly.

"N-no," he stammered, in a voice quite insincere.

"You're such a liar," she spat, smiling weakly.

"I'm not lying..."

"Then why can't you even _look _at me?" she demanded, leaning in dangerously close to him, her nose almost touching his. The sound of their glasses tinkling together sang in the boy's ears, and, staring into those chocolate irises of hers, saw the familiar flame of dominance that always seemed to glaze her sight.

_Shit...is she gonna kiss me again...? _His thoughts ran wild – reluctantly.

"Err..." he choked, swallowing his breath and trying to shove it back down his throat. Why was she making him feel like this? He had accepted her offer – what else did she want from him? His heart pounded at the assumptions his mind had to offer...not with anticipation, but with fright.

_Just get up and run! _his head screamed madly. _Run out of the door, while you still can! **It's not too late! **_

But his feet wouldn't budge. In fact, it felt that every muscle of his body had turned to lead.

"Grace," he squeaked, squirming on the couch. "I..."

"Christ, you're tense," she giggled, moving away from him and taking a long gulp from her glass. "Anyone would think I was going to murder you, or something. I only wanted to talk." She peered at him in mock suspicion, smirking a little. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you, don't you Case?"

He swallowed again, and tried to laugh. However, it came out in a wrenched croak:

"Yeah...sure."

_I've got to get out of here._

-oOo-

She noticed him rinsing out his glass in the kitchen later. He obviously hadn't finished his coke, as she saw it spiralling down the drain; mixing with the tap-water. She sighed and stood next to him, peering at the side of his face – watching his reactions.

"I'm sorry about before," she brought up, quietly.

"Mmm?"

"About what happened on the court," she said, "and what I _said_. I'm...sorry that I didn't help you. I was just trying to prove a point...and it went too far."

Casey shrugged a little, placing the wet glass onto the draining rack. "I-it's okay," he murmured, his voice empty and solemn. "Just forget about it –"

"But I _can't,_" she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling him flinch a little in surprise. "I can't forget, Casey...I feel awful about it. _Look _at you. I...I'm so sorry!" She choked on her words a little, throwing her arms around him in another random hug.

"Errr..." he mumbled uneasily, staring at her warm chest pressed against his and sensing the scent of strawberries wafting beneath his nose. He felt light-headed and dizzy on his feet. It was a good thing that she moved away just in time otherwise he was sure that he would have collapsed.

"You okay?" she asked, giggling at his hazy expression.

"I...guess, yeah..."

Why was she suddenly touching him all the time now, whereas she hardly ever came near him before? Now, she was smothering him with hugs and kissing him on the cheek all the time. Was she doing this on purpose? Was she just playing with him? She could see that he was uncomfortable with it...then why do it?

_I guess I'm just not used to girls paying attention to me, _he thought bitterly. _I'm not even used to **anyone **giving me attention like this. _The whole thought was depressing in itself.

"I'm just making it worse, aren't I?" she said, in a tiny voice. She read his blank, blushing expression for a few moments, and then took his arm gently. "Come on, I want to talk to you."

"T-talk?"

"Yeah, don't worry," she laughed. "I just want to talk – that's it."

"Okay."

_Talk? That's a good thing, right? What does she exactly mean by **talking? **How long is she going to keep me here? Am I ever going to get home? Jesus, someone help me..._

The mad thoughts just continued to race through his head. He was certain that there had to be something more to this invite. If all Grace had wanted to do was apologise then she had already fulfilled her request. What else did she want from Casey?

_Another kiss? _

"Are you _sure _you're all right?" Grace asked him warily, as she took him by the wrist and let him into the living room. "You look terrified."

_I am, I **fucking **am._

He felt himself swallow unwillingly, his throat moving up and down like an apple on a trampoline. He gasped and clutched his fingers around his neck. "N-no, I'm okay," he breathed out.

"You're sweating," she pointed out, peering worriedly into his face. "Here, sit down."

Casey flopped gratefully into the soft cushions, trying desperately to get his breath back. He didn't want to be seen in her eyes as such a nervous wreck, but there was really nothing that he could do about it. He didn't want to stay in this house for another second. He felt scared to death, even though he didn't want to be. Why the hell did he have to be such a wuss around a pretty girl?

_Pretty...? _He felt his brain screw up in confusion. _W-wait a minute...did I just think...that Grace was...?_

"Casey!" Grace's voice – filled with panic – sounded a million miles away. "You're hyperventilating! Oh, Christ – wait _here_! I'll get you some water, or something...oh, _shit_!" She dashed out of the room.

The boy just wanted to scramble beneath the couch and live there forever with the dust bunnies and lint. How could he be such a...a _geek _around her? She was being so hospitable and friendly, and he was acting as if he was next up on death row. With those thoughts he managed to calm himself down, although he felt a strong burning alive in his cheeks.

_I'm **such **a loser..._

"Here!" the girl squealed, rushing back into the room with a full glass in her hand, almost falling headfirst – stumbling on the rug. "Here you go, Casey – drink it,_ quick_!" She appeared as if she were ready to pass out herself. She collapsed into the chair, blowing her fringe out of her eyes.

"Thanks," murmured Casey awkwardly, receiving the glass and sipping it. He couldn't help thinking that he deserved to have the whole thing thrown over the top of his head.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" she huffed.

"No, it's fine," he whispered, staring at his sneakers.

She smiled, sighing with relief. "Sorry," she admitted, biting her lip and grinning at his red face. "I guess it's just a habit...I panic whenever I see someone –"

"Seriously, it's _fine,_" repeated Casey, although this time he couldn't help but smile a little, remembering her reaction when he had tumbled down the bleachers all those days ago. It made him feel better, really, especially when she had been so nice to him afterwards.

_I guess I shouldn't have been as pissed as I had been at her that day after all, _he told himself, feeling somewhat guilty now. _She **was **only trying to help...perhaps she was trying to help me back on the court as well..._

He took a deep breath, staring into her helpful, waiting expression. "Look," he started slowly, "I'm sorry...about before."

Grace frowned. "When?"

"Back...on the court," he said, finally relaxing enough to make himself comfortable on the couch, slouching. "I shouldn't have gotten so mad at you, Grace...but it's just..." He growled, gripping the glass between his fingers so hard his fingertips turned the colour of dry bone. "Those guys..._everyone..._sometimes it's just too much to take...they treat me like shit – and everyday it's the same..."

"Everyday?" Grace asked carefully. She didn't really feel like dragging up any touchy subjects now, when they had at long last begun to be civil towards one another.

"Yeah," he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Ever since I can remember."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be." He took another sip of his water. "I don't need you to be sorry for me –"

The girl let out a small, aggravated groan and banged her head against the sofa cushion, shaking her head. "Damn it, will you _shut up!" _she laughed, although Casey could tell from her tone that she was annoyed. "I'm not _pitying _you, Casey...it was a sort of...you know, an _apologetic _sorry!"

Casey blinked, then stared into his glass. "Oh."

"Jeez," she chuckled. "Why do you think the whole world is out to cut you up?"

He gave her a look.

"Oh, right," she said, rolling her dark eyes. "The whole they-treat-you-like-shit thing, right?"

He shrugged, hoping he appeared as if he didn't care. "I told you. I guess I'm just used to it by now. I've been fucked around like this since I was in first grade. I don't know if my parents could have started me off...maybe they picked me up at the hospital and knew _exactly _what my life would turn out like. Maybe they feel sorry for me too...or –"

He stopped suddenly when he caught Grace giggling in her seat out of the corner of his eye. He snapped his gaze to her, just in time to see her flimsily attempt to smother them and quickly apply an awkward straight face.

"What's so funny?" he questioned sharply.

_How can she be laughing at me? _he wondered, a bitter, nasty taste welling in his gut. _I **knew **I shouldn't have said anything. All she wants to do is make fun of me..._

"Nothing," she smirked, matter-of-factly. "Just imagining you as a baby now."

Casey paused. "...The fuck?"

She chuckled again, grabbing a cushion and stuffing it over her face, squealing into it playfully. Her fingers clenched around the tassels as she struggled to regain herself again. The words "baby" and "ohmygod" barely made their way through.

Casey watched her curiously, noticing how delicately her wrists looked, curved around the cushion like that, her fingers groping for the material desperately. Her soft, muffled laughs rang like music in his ears, and he could feel even more heat flow to his cheeks, so much that it made every other muscle in his body feel weak.

_She has the nicest laugh in the world, _he realised, chewing on his lip and wondering if it was entirely possible to have this much blood in one male body. _But I'll be fucked if I ever tell her that, no way. I'd rather have my limbs torn to shreds and be paralyzed for life by those bastards than tell Grace that I like her laugh. It's less humiliating. _

She eventually calmed down, peering out over the pillow shyly, her eyes shining from laughter and her dark bangs hanging over her cheeks, bringing out the colour in them and lighting up her whole face; her skin singing.

"Sorry," she sniggered, noticing the look on the boy's face.

"You're weird," Casey mumbled quietly, gulping more water and avoiding her eyes.

-oOo-

"So," Grace brought up cheerfully, sometime later. "Tell me some things about yourself, Casey."

He darted his head up, nervously gazing at her. "T-things? What kind of things?"

She tapped her nails against the arm of the chair, staring at him intently; teasing. "Oh, I don't know," she sighed sarcastically, fiddling with a strand of her hair, a bored expression on her face. "Ever been in prison?"

Casey started, gaping at her as if she was mad. "What! No!"

"I'm only messing with you, stupid," she laughed, tucking her legs into the chair and resting her chin on her knees with a roll of her eyes. "Don't be so _nervous_! Jeez, what do you _think_ I wanna ask you? I only want to get to know you better, not _interrogate _you!"

"Oh," Casey whispered, for what felt like the millionth time that night. "Yeah. Sorry...I'm just not –"

"–Used to it, I know," Grace finished for him. "But it's okay. It's just me."

Casey nodded, feeling a little better. He cleared his throat and sighed, staring at the dark red nail polish that captured the light onto her toes, highlighting them. He snapped his eyes away, reaching for his empty water glass and gulping air from it. "Okay, you go first," he mumbled. "Ask away."

"So...Herrington," she began, making close eye contact with him. "You like it?"

_Oh, she just **had **to bring that hellhole up. Why is it whenever two strangers meet the first thing that always pops into their head is to talk about fucking school?_

"You mean: do I like the lessons or the people?" Casey asked coldly.

Grace's gaze flickered, casting downward. "You don't have to answer..."

"N-no, it's okay," the boy apologised, taking another swig of air. Then he realised that he must look ridiculous and placed it back down onto the carpet. No barriers with Grace – not this time. They had a chance to be honest and polite to one another, this was the best time to start. "I guess..._some_ days...when everyone leaves me alone...it's fine."

"Really?" she asked softly, her eyebrows narrowing a little at the thought of Casey sitting in class, having lunch, and walking home from lessons all by himself. "Don't you have any other friends there besides me?"

Casey's heart skipped a beat. _Did...she just call me...her **friend? **_he asked himself, double-checking as if to make sure. _But...I thought that she couldn't stand me...I...I thought –_

"Casey?"

He broke out of his thoughts at the sound of her remark – so patient, yet so not – and smiled awkwardly. "Well, I guess I don't," he answered in a hushed voice, glancing away and feeling like an even bigger dork than he had done before. "I don't really make friends easily. Once they realise you're the school nerd they don't stick around too long."

"_I_ stuck around," she whispered, sounding a little hurt.

"I know, I know," he sighed, wanting to recover from the whole subject. How could he continue to talk to her when he constantly kept reminding her that he was an outcast? "I just haven't had that much experience, that's all. Most people don't...take to me..." He felt an embarrassed heat grow from the inside, and his fingertips tingled.

_There's not much that you **have **had experience with, is there? _The dark thoughts were back. That was _all _he needed right now. _You'd better stop saying these retarded things or else she'll think you're an even bigger loser than you already are._

"I don't care," he growled back, half to himself, then realised he had said it out loud. He snapped his blue eyes to hers, clenching his teeth, holding back anything else that he would have loved to say in response to those annoying thoughts.

Thankfully, to his relief, he saw Grace's cheeks glow with a pretty smile. "Well, that's great if you don't care about that," she said cheerfully. "It takes a lot of balls to admit that you don't give a shit what people think about you."

"Erm...yeah," the boy replied weakly, and felt a little ashamed inside. Nothing about that statement was true at all.

Grace shifted on the couch, a strange look of passive thought clouded over her. "Well, I like Herrington," she announced brightly, tucking small strands of hair out of her face and behind her ears, rocking back and forth a little, appearing very innocent. "It's a hell of a lot better than my last school, anyway."

"Which school was that?" Casey asked curiously.

"You wouldn't know it."

Casey looked away. He _hated _it when people said that. _Why not **tell **me about it? Then I might perhaps get an idea._

"I have more friends here too," she went on, avoiding the glitter of jealousy in Casey's eyes and staring into the empty fireplace. "Everyone seemed to hate one another at my old place...everyone was so...angry and hostile."

"Didn't the teachers do anything about it?"

Grace scoffed. "Hell, since when do teachers do anything like that for anyone?"

Casey reminded himself of all of the times that he had been beaten up in the hallways, injured on the basketball courts and had been the target of paper balls in class. Since when had Miss Burke or Mr Tate even _thought _about speaking up and defending him? Couldn't they see he was incapable of doing it for himself? And what about Nurse Harper? Instead of tending to him quickly and then sending him on his way with an apathetic: "Take more care next time", couldn't she at least _talk _to him about how he was feeling? Couldn't she treat him with a little more emotion?

He sighed in defeat, staring up at the ceiling and feeling very cold and unimportant. "I guess you've got a point."

"At least I have Carla and Rachel here," Grace added, her smile returning at the mention of her girlfriends. "I mean, don't get me wrong – they're _great _friends, but...you can't always depend upon them. Anyways, they were so nice to me on the first day. I really thought that I would end up in that heap without a single friend."

She heard Casey's quiet "Mmm" of false agreement across the room. Her brow narrowed. "Let me know if I'm rubbing something in," she said softly. "I don't want to make you feel like shit..."

"I-it's not your fault," said Casey quickly, still staring into the patterned carpet. "It's not like you can help it if you have great friends. I mean...if I had friends like yours, I guess I wouldn't be able to stop talking about them either..."

_I don't want to say it, _he thought glumly, _but she **is **making me feel crappy. All this talk about the teachers, and the bullies, and now about her abso-fucking-lutely amazing friends. _

But despite all of this, he didn't want her to stop talking. Her voice was so wild and friendly, and it made him forget everything that had happened in the past few hours. It wiped his memory clean, because it felt different, and he had wanted to feel different for a very long time. It somehow allowed him to think more clearly.

"What about that girl I see you in the hallway with sometimes?" Grace mentioned suddenly, as if she were trying to think of at least _someone _that this boy was on good terms with. "You know, the one who wears a lot of black and heavy chains? Isn't _she_ your friend?"

Casey laughed dryly. "Hardly. We've been through school together since I can remember but she rarely ever speaks to me. In fact..." He paused for a second, thinking hard. "...In fact, she doesn't usually talk to _anyone._"

Grace nodded, rolling her eyes and resting her cheek in her palm. "A loner, huh?"

"I think she likes being alone," the boy continued, a new faraway look in his eyes, as if he were making a brave effort to see past all of the heavy eye-makeup and the ebony cloak of clothes, wanting to search for the Stokely inside all of that. "I mean, she's always come off as a little strange...but if she didn't like it, why would she go out of her way to be so mean to everyone?"

"Maybe she has issues," suggested Grace, with a tiny smirk.

Casey frowned, scratching his arm. "What kind of issues?"

"I dunno. You should ask her."

He smirked, turning away. "Yeah, right," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "She'd kill me."

Grace giggled again – short and low. It somehow brightened Casey at the thought that he had made someone laugh like that, especially if it was Grace. It was strange...a few days ago he had hated her. He would have given anything to keep her as far away from him as possible. But now, after she had helped him so much, he realised something: perhaps she wasn't all as bad as he had made her out to be. Besides, they were sitting here – talking – and she wasn't irritating him in the slightest.

_Weird...weird that she seems so happy around me now..._

"_I've **learnt **to be fucking happy!" _

The furious words bounced around inside of his brain like a painful game of pong, as if they were doing their best to crawl their way out of there and onto Casey's tongue instead. He frowned and took a deep breath, staring out of the window.

_Should I ask her about it? I mean...I've been wanting to know what she meant by that since that day...not only that, but if what she got over was **so **bad...how can I feel the way that she feels now? Happy, without a care?_

"How did you learn to?" he questioned suddenly, in a strange voice.

"How'd I what?"

"Learn to be happy," he stated, this time, watching her entire face for any sign of a reaction. "That day...when I broke my wrist and I yelled at you...you said that you'd learned to be happy. What did you mean?"

She didn't say anything for a very long time. After a good twenty seconds, Casey saw a small flicker of pain cross her face and then vanish again, as if the heat from her cheeks had evaporated it into nothing. She pursed her lips a little and took to glancing over her nails, as if they were suddenly the most interesting thing she'd ever seen.

"You remember that?"

"Yeah," said Casey, peering at her. "and I don't understand."

"You don't want to know." Her words shook a little, as if she were doing everything she could to hold something back. Tears? Casey couldn't even see her face anymore. It was concealed behind her chestnut hair to reveal the top of her head. Casey couldn't help feeling that she was trying to hide something.

"S-sorry," he apologised meekly. "Did I say something –?"

"No, it's not you," she sighed, gazing back up at him with a blank stare. "It happened a while ago, anyway."

"_What _happened?" asked Casey patiently. "Please, Grace...I want to know..."

"My uncle," she answered, a lot faster than Casey had expected her too. Her voice had changed again – filled with an unmistakeable tone of anguish and disgust, mixed together and gathering in the air. "He used to...you know, _do _things to me."

"Do things...?" Casey didn't like where this conversation was going. "W-what do you mean?"

Grace wrapped her arms around her knees again, hugging her whole body, pulling it in close for comfort. "He liked to take his anger out on me. Hit me, and stuff. I never told my parents about it. He said he'd hurt me even worse if I told anyone. I...was so scared...I didn't know what to do..." Her words quavered gently towards the end.

_I don't want her to cry, _Casey told himself firmly. _I've only just managed to make her laugh. I would kill myself if I brought all of this up again, just as she had gotten over it...but..._

The boy felt as if he had been stabbed. He had never felt such regret...such a horrible sense of pity for someone like this in his whole life. It felt worse than anything he had ever felt before – even more so than the jocks' beatings or the slap across the face he had received. All of his misery and shame had always been directed at himself...but Grace...kind, clever, funny Grace had been through _that? _ Casey loathed the way his father treated him, but he could never imagine him doing something so _vile _to his own son.

"That...that's _sick,_" he whispered quietly, staring at Grace in a new light. She was a survivor of child abuse, and yet it was unnoticeable. How could he not see that? From someone who had practically written the book on how it felt to be abused, and yet...

"Like I said, it's over now –"

"But Grace, _Jesus_!" Casey cut in, sounding horrified. "How old were you?"

Grace shrugged her shoulders lightly, sounding very hollow. "It was about four years ago, I guess –"

"You were _thirteen?_" Casey couldn't breathe. "Grace...it wasn't that long ago? Why didn't you tell anyone about it? It was your uncle...a member of your family..."

Grace turned away, fire burning in her irises, lighting them up against the darkness of the room. "I don't like to see him that way anymore," she snarled viciously. "That bastard...that _fucking..._" She stopped herself from going any further, knowing that the next word that would come out of her mouth would be very offending. Casey spotted small tears glinting in the corners of her eyes, and his heart twanged with sympathy.

"Grace...I –"

"He's gone now," she added, trying to smile in her friend's direction, as if she had completely – just this moment – wiped her demon from her memory. "Yeah...he's far away...ever since my parents found out."

"Did you tell them?" Casey asked kindly, getting an urging desire to sit next to her and hold her hand...or hug her, or something. She looked so miserable, and yet so brave by the way she was forcing it back; pushing it away from her. It was admirable.

"No," she whispered, staring into her palms again and flexing the fingers. "They...caught him. One night..." The tears grew bigger and she gasped for breath, turning away. "...In my room..."

_In her...**room? **Her **bed**room? Oh, shit...no way, no way...does she mean that he...? That he did...? Oh, God..._

It took Casey a while to respond. He simply sat there, with his mouth open, as white as a sheet. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. Sweet, spontaneous Grace – full of life, and she had put up with something bigger than anything he had experienced. He wished that his heart would start beating again.

He eventually felt his fingers curling into fists. "...**_Fuck_**!" he screamed, raking his good hand through his hair. He felt the bruise at his temple throbbing and he winced a little from the pain.

"Don't worry about it now," whispered Grace, awkwardly scratching her neck. "Like I said, it happened ages –"

"_So fucking **what!**_**" **Casey found himself yelling, gripping the armchair so tightly from the unfairness of it all. "It doesn't matter if it happened then...I mean, no one could forgive...Grace – he...he...r...ra –?"

"No, no!" she cried, understanding the dreadful word that he just couldn't bring himself to say. "No...don't worry...it didn't go that far..."

He stared at her, long and hard. It was almost as if he was accusing her – and he didn't want to make things worse, but he had to know the whole truth, otherwise he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. He would be up – lying awake – thinking...did he? Didn't he?

"But it _could _have, right?"

Grace sighed, chewing on her nail fervently. "Casey..."

"_Could _it?" The concern was clear. She could tell.

"I...guess so..."

"Shit." He slumped back into his seat again, his heart finally pulsing into a rhythmic state. He felt his fingers trembling as he pulled them free from the couch, a burning, sick feeling in his stomach.

"Can we change the subject...?" said Grace in a small voice, sometime later. She hadn't wanted this, but in a way, he was glad that Casey knew the truth. Now he could see what she had been through and how that she had survived through it all and had emerged on the other side. She wanted him to do the same with his problems.

"No," whispered Casey, shakily. "Not until you tell me how you got over it."

"I just _did, _okay?" she snapped, not wishing to sound as harsh as she did. "Look...it happened four years ago, and I just wanted to get my life back together – I didn't want to keep moping around, suffering from it forever! So I took a deep breath, dusted it off, got on with life and I've learned to be happy! You just..._do _it. Yeah...sure, some days can be hard...but that's life. It's fucking hard."

It felt like being slapped again. Casey glanced down at the floor, put in his place once again. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I just...wish I could do the same..."

"You _can,_" she urged, the softness in her voice returning, and her eyes sparkled again with that same sense of determination. "Casey – I've been trying to tell you this since I first met you...you _can _do it. You just need to _try._"

He sighed unconvincingly.

"Look," she went on, patiently. "If I could do it, then so can _you. _You _can. _I know what it feels like to be weak too, Casey, remember? _Everyone _does. But you need to fight back –"

"But they're too strong," argued Casey, lifting his head up, his every essence reeking of hopelessness. "You saw me out there...they almost _killed _me, Grace...how can I –?"

But astonishingly, Grace shook her head. "Not _them, _silly, not the bullies. I mean you have to fight back against that _feeling. _That heavy, bad-tasting lump in the bottom of your heart that drags you down...makes you feel low. You have to fight against _that. _Be happy."

"I-it's...hard..."

"I know it is," she said kindly, smiling gently. "But you can do it. I know you can. I _believe _you can."

Casey tried to hide the frustrating blush that suddenly chose the wrong moment to sweep across his cheeks.

-oOo-

The next hour seemed to drag on by forever. Casey didn't want to, but he kept picturing a thirteen-year old Grace having to go through so much with her family, and struggling with those feelings. He wished he could have known her then. Perhaps then he would have been able to help her in some way, and he wouldn't feel so guilty right now.

_Why do I always meet people at the wrong time? _he thought miserably.

"It's...getting late," Casey murmured awkwardly, wanting to dash out of the door but feeling reluctant to leave at the same time.

"You're right," she agreed brightly, peering at her watch and shifting around in the armchair. "I guess you'll be wanting to get back home, huh?"

Casey nodded a little. "Yeah...I've got a science paper to d –"

He finished mid-way in sentence as his mind suddenly flashed a glimpse of Grace, huddling against the lockers with her biology books clutched to her chest, and the tall, perfect guy leaning over her, staring into her dark eyes and bringing up that burning blush from her cheeks...

"Casey?" Grace asked quietly, trying not to giggle. "Are...you okay? You've gone quiet again."

"N-no, I'm okay," he spat out, gathering himself together with the little dignity that he had left. He felt the burning jealous pain inside of his chest again and he wished he could scream it all out, but how could he when she was sitting _right there? _"I just...have to get it done..."

"Oh, wait!" she exclaimed, springing from her seat, that wild look in her eyes again. "That's just reminded me, Casey! I wanted to ask you something about science."

He turned, looking straight at her. "Yeah?"

"Well, I've never really been that good at it...and, well, I was thinking it would be a good idea to find someone to help me study for it. You know, like a tutor, or something? That w –"

"Is that why you were asking that guy?" The question came out without him even considering the aftermath. It hadn't helped that he had also come across as harsh and accusing whilst saying it either.

_Why? _he thought, desperately getting the urge to kick himself in the head. _Wby the hell did I say that? _

She frowned. "_What _guy?"

"The one at the lockers the other day," he sighed, fiddling with his shoelace and giving himself something to do, even though that there was no reason for it to be touched at all. "I saw you when I left the school...he's smart, you know, you'll pass for sure –"

"You mean _Zeke?_" she scoffed, screwing her nose up. "You _saw _that? Urgh, what a _jerk_! I wanted to ask him a simple thing like studying for a science test, and that creep thinks that I was talking about _something else._" He watched her roll her eyes away in contempt, shuddering. "I just wanted to get away from him, to be honest..."

_She...did? She...she thinks he was a jerk? _The burning pain dissolved quietly, but Casey was too much in awe of what she was saying to pay any attention to what was going on inside.

"R-really?" he asked, hoping not to sound too pleased. "Hmm...I thought that you two were getting pretty close."

"Oh, please," she laughed. "Give me some fucking credit."

He couldn't help but smile. For some reason, he imagined this conversation turning out a whole lot worse. "So," he started, his brain completely lost for what he could possibly say next. "What was it you wanted to ask me...? About...science?"

"Oh, yeah!" she chuckled, jumping out of her seat to gather up the empty glasses on the floor. "I was wondering, since you're so clever and everything, Casey...if it's not too much trouble, would you mind helping me instead?"

Casey blinked. "Me...help you...?"

"If it's okay," she added quickly, biting her lip. "It would mean a lot to me, Casey...but if it's too much trouble –"

"No, no!" he broke in, a little _too_ eagerly. "That would be great..."

"Casey, you're the _best_!" she grinned, throwing her arms around him again and squeezing him tightly. "I knew I could count on you – you're such a great friend!"

_Yeah, _he thought awkwardly. _A friend. I still can't believe she called me that. A few days ago she said..._

"_I wish I'd never met you!"_

"_Me too."_

"I don't," he mumbled into her hair, remembering what had happened at the hospital a good week or so ago.

"Hmm?"

"What I shouted at you in the ward," he said. "About wishing I'd never met you...I don't wish that. I'm glad I did. You're...a great friend too." The whole time he babbled that out he always had the uncomfortable feeling that he was going to choke on his own saliva.

She grinned. "Good. Because I'm glad I met you too. I guess we were just...going through a bad patch, then."

"Yeah," Casey whispered, staring at his jacket sleeve as if he could see directly through it, tracing his eyes beyond the fabric and onto the scabbing cut, reminding himself of the pain and the blood and the fear. Then he looked over at Grace, clutching him to her tightly, a small smile on her face.

"A bad patch."


	11. Discovered

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films. The character Ulysses belongs to me.

-oOo-

**Chapter 11 – Discovered**

When Casey's alarm abruptly woke him up that morning and he realised it was a Sunday, he remembered smiling sleepily and making the effort to rise out of bed to dress. The sun was streaming pleasantly through the curtains and bringing a baking light into the small room.

Casey always looked forward to Sundays now. It was the one evening of the week that he and Grace had agreed to choose for their study-dates, since he had gladly offered to help her with her science work a good week ago.

_At least it's better than that bastard Zeke doing it instead, _he thought triumphantly. _I can only imagine what sort of things he would teach her..._

_There's that jealous tone again, _his dark thoughts sang.

_Fuck you. _

Casey rummaged through his wardrobe for a clean shirt to wear, pleased that the frustrating cut on his arm was slowly beginning to wear away from its scab.

_It'll be gone soon, _he told himself happily, a small rush of relief sweeping through him. _It'll be gone and then you can forget that you even did it. It was such a bad idea..._

Still, there wasn't any time to be pondering on things like that anymore. Casey was feeling a lot better these days, and since that Grace was no longer causing grief for him at school anymore but rather friendship, he could walk there feeling a little less strained. He wanted to have a decent time before he saw her in the evening. Whenever he always seemed to come across something that bothered him in the morning (or whenever) it affected his entire day.

Casey glanced across at the clock, noticing that it read eleven minutes past ten. He slumped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering what he could do until he had to leave. After all, it was a weekend, so no school. He had finished all of his homework the night before, so _that _was out of the question.

Sighing, he slid from his covers and sat himself in front of his computer, quickly turning it on and connecting himself up to the Internet. Perhaps Grace was online and he could instant message her. For some strange reason, he didn't really feel like chatting to anyone else but her. During their first study session, she had offered to give him a different form of contact:

"_Here," _she had smiled, placing the piece of paper in his hand eagerly. _"Thought you might want this."_

"_What is it?" _he had asked.

"_My email address, silly," _she had laughed, shoving him playfully. _"It might be better than ringing you up at bastard hours of the morning."_

Casey could remember blushing again. He _had _to stop doing that around her, and other girls as well. _"T-thanks..."_

_Maybe it's because no one else has really bothered to give me their email address..._he thought bitterly. _Especially a girl..._

_Click. _He tapped his fingertips around the keys on his board and opened up his instant messenger. He found to his surprise that Grace was in fact online, at this very moment. It struck him as a little odd...didn't girls usually sleep in extremely late on a weekend?

_Oh, well, _he told himself, shrugging in his seat and moving his cursor over her name. _Why complain? _

**_Hey, Grace, _**he wrote, all the while allowing himself to melt into the murky grey light radiating from his screen. **_Why aren't you asleep? _**

**_Hi, Casey, _**she replied, complete with a small smiley face in the corner. **_I guess I'm not tired, even though I didn't sleep too well last night. _**

Casey frowned. **_Really? Why not? _**

**_Just nervous, I guess, _**she replied. **_You know, about the test next week..._**

**_You'll be fine, _**he encouraged, rolling his blue eyes as he did so. She always seemed so worried about things such as that, when in reality Casey knew that she would finish the test with flying colours. It had only taken one study session to show him that she would have no problem.

**_Well, you're gonna have to help me real hard tonight, _**she wrote back, with a tiny winking face. **_And then you can prove me right. _**

**_Okay, _**he responded, a little too quickly. **_Same time as last week? _**

**_Yeah, seven, _**came her answer. **_I'll see you then. I gotta go now, my mom's on the warpath. Bye! _**

"Bye..." the boy whispered quietly to himself, before signing out from his computer, a tiny smile shimmering on his face.

-oOo-

"Where are _you _going?" Lorraine wondered aloud in amazement, watching Casey dash past her in the kitchen, grabbing his jacket and lacing up his sneakers at sometime around half past six that evening.

Casey chewed his lip, wishing that he could just escape without any annoying questions from his parents. He didn't want his mother to make a fuss about the whole ordeal, when he was simply helping a friend.

"N-nowhere," he mumbled out quickly. "Just to Grace's..."

"Grace?" Lorraine broke in, her voice sounding very enthusiastic. "So you're friends with her now, then?"

Casey felt himself sigh with exasperation. "Yeah...we're studying together for the test next week..."

"Oh, that's nice, isn't it?" his mother gushed, with a smile that made Casey wish that he could melt into a giant flesh-coloured puddle on the floor and disappear into it forever. "It's good that you're spending time with her, Casey; and she's such a _sweet _girl –"

"Bye, Mom," Casey said as he was leaving, shutting the door behind him. He could still hear his mother continuing to talk to no one as he sprinted down the driveway and headed towards Grace's block.

-oOo-

The eerie grey clouds brushed across the dark sky, smothering the stars and moonlight with its cloak and blocking them from sight. Casey had just managed to reach Grace's house by this point but it felt like hours since he had left his house to meet her.

He knocked quickly, glancing around the neighbourhood and secretly not wanting to be here for as long as he had to. Many a time he had been here he had often thought to himself that this seemed a rougher block than his own. What if a gang of random bullies chose this time to select him for their next midnight target practice?

_Geez, you're paranoid, _his thoughts shot back, taunting him. _No wonder you always get the shit beaten out of you – you always look like you're hiding something._

A sudden loud barking made Casey almost fall backwards in shock as Grace's dog came bounding up to him as soon as the door was opened, standing on his sneakers and gazing at him with his enormous brown eyes.

Casey wasn't sure whether he should scream for help or to touch the thing. Instead he swallowed, struggling to get his heartbeat pulsing once more, and ended up smiling sheepishly at Grace when she finally managed to come to the door herself.

"Oh, shit – sorry!" she gasped, raking her fingers around her dog's collar and dragging him back inside the house. "Ignore Ulysses , He always does that whenever anyone comes to the door, he's a nightmare."

Casey clambered shakily to his feet. "...Yeah..." he agreed, awkwardly.

"Here," she laughed, taking him gently by the wrist and opening the door for him. "Are you thirsty?"

"A...little," answered Casey quietly, secretly cross with himself for allowing that dog to make such a fool out of him before he had even stepped inside the house. He attempted to force his blush away and sat down comfortably on the couch, waiting patiently for the drinks as Grace disappeared into the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Her voice drifted into the room, sounding a little concerned. "That mutt didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Oh...no, I'm fine," the boy replied, sinking back into the cushions, shooting a dirty look at Ulysses , curled up in the corner, looking as contented as always with his breath escaping in traditional canine pants.

_Stupid thing, _he growled to himself. _I never really liked dogs all that much, and this one's not helping the standard in my eyes._

"He just gets excited," said Grace in defence. "He's harmless, really."

"Mmm..." answered Casey, still glaring viciously in the dog's direction.

_Harmless..._ he thought, tearing his sight away and staring down at his torn fingernails again, a lump forming in the bottom of his gut. _I suppose now she thinks I'm an even bigger wuss than she already thinks I am... _

"I'm so glad we're doing this now," Grace mentioned brightly, her dark eyes sparkling with a rare light that only Casey could see if he looked deep enough. "Every week, I mean."

The boy swallowed involuntarily. "Oh...? R-really?" he croaked, wishing he could slap himself.

"Yeah," she smiled. "You don't know how much I'm excelling, thanks to your _amazing _teaching! I'd be lost without you, Casey."

_Lost without me? _His cheeks were on fire. "N-no problem."

"Your arm looks better," the girl brought up kindly, although Casey couldn't help feeling that she was desperate to get off the topic. He found himself glancing down at the brown cast laced around it now, the sling forgotten a long time ago.

"Yeah," he sighed, sweeping relief flowing inside him. "I just have to wear this now. It doesn't hurt as much."

She chuckled softly; shortly. Although, unknown to Casey, she always felt a little uneasy talking to him now, more than she ever did. She spent many nights wondering why, but a spiteful little voice inside her often blamed these feelings on the fact that she spilled a dangerous secret to him not too long ago.

_Why **did **I tell him that? _she asked herself angrily, many times. _How did he get me to tell him that? I've never told anyone else outside of my family...until now...how did he...?_

She could remember gazing into his swirling, accusing blue eyes as he had spoken to her, in a voice so demanding and dominant that she had paid her full attention, and had been unwillingly swept up in that flood of messages once again:

_I need to know...! Tell me...I have to know!_

_I want to know how to be strong, like you!_

_Tell me..._

_**Tell me, bitch...! **_

"I...I didn't want to tell you about...my uncle," she said carefully, without looking at him. "It just...came out."

The silence struck painfully in all places of his body. The way she had said that...as if she were _remembering _something that had been locked away, and she had been too afraid to bring it up, until now.

He twiddled his fingers in his lap and took a deep breath, gazing at her intently. "I-it's okay," he whispered, his voice clogged tightly in his throat. "I'm...glad you told me."

_Am I? _he scoffed to himself, reluctantly imagining Grace as a young girl – like she was in that photograph – being abused and terrorised by that monster, right under her own roof and in front of her parent's veiled eyes. _Why am I glad she told me? I would have preferred it if she had kept it to herself, but...she looked so miserable...**fuck...**_

Just the thought of it made him sick to his stomach. "Are you okay about it?" he squeaked out, hoping that he sounded encouraging rather than concerned. "You know, if you want to talk to me about it..."

"It's okay," she giggled softly, sitting back in her chair. "It's over now. I don't _need _to talk about it."

_She doesn't **need **to talk about it, _Casey thought, unhappily. _But does she **want **to talk about it? Perhaps she's trapped inside, wanting to tell someone how she felt when it was happening, what she thought about doing..._

But in the end, he closed his mouth and said nothing. If Grace wanted to talk about it, she would have probably done something about it by now. Instead, she chose to push the whole event to the back of her mind. She seemed happy, anyway.

"...Okay," Casey said carefully, nodding in her direction. "If that's fine with you."

"You're a lot more understanding than my parents were," she replied quietly, after a short silence. "It seemed like all they ever wanted to do was make me tell _everyone _what had happened."

"Parents can be like that." Casey wasn't even aware that he had said that out loud until he heard the girl's mumbled approval.

"I know exactly what you mean," she sighed. "After...you know, _he _left, it was as if I were a fucking time-bomb, or something...just waiting to explode. They just...wanted me to get help, you know? _Medical _help. I just felt like a nutcase in their eyes."

_How is it...that I can relate so **much **to what she's saying? _Casey wondered, listening intently to her, picturing the same reactions that he always received from his family. _I always feel strange in their eyes too, as if they're not pleased with me...as if they want to **change** me..._

"But I'm not depressed, or anything!" she suddenly blurted out, staring directly into his eyes. He noticed that hers burned with a small segment of desperation and he glanced away without realising it. "I keep telling them I'm fine – that I'm _over _it now...but do they believe me? Humph."

Grace slumped in her seat, playing with a few small strands of her dark hair while she sat there, an intense expression clouding her face. She seemed to be thinking very hard about something.

"I'm fine," she whispered to herself, in a somewhat broken voice.

_No you're not. Not **really. **_Those were the words that the boy _wanted _to say. He watched her now, squirming uncomfortably in her chair and chewing fervently at her bottom lip with her teeth, as if she were reliving a terrible flashback.

"Grace...?"

"So!" she almost screamed out, perking upright with a tight smile stretched across her face. "I heard something in your tone earlier when you said that you agreed with me. Are your parents as bad as mine?"

Casey almost flinched at how fake and plastic that her laugh sounded.

"Maybe even worse," he decided to say, noticing – from her – the almost _eager _need for him to respond with a "yes". "You're right...they don't really..._encourage _me enough, you know? Like...if I ever did something wrong...it almost feels as if they're _ashamed _that I messed up, rather than, say...they never make me feel better about myself."

Grace bit her lip. "I see."

_I don't want her feeling sorry for me, _Casey thought miserably. _I want her to see that I can deal with this by myself. That look...the look that she's giving me now...almost as if I'm an abused child...I feel so pathetic..._

"Anyway," he continued, trying to brush it off, as if it meant nothing (when, in fact, it meant _everything_). "Aren't all parents like that? They always want you to be someone else, don't they?"

Grace shrugged lightly, her gaze casting downward at the question. "I...I'm not sure." Her voice was small and quiet.

"But," said Casey, almost to himself after some thought. "I _have_ noticed...that _sometimes, _they can be so overbearing...and _smothering, _it's enough to make you want to hide from the world forever. But then...other times, it's as if they don't even know you're alive. And they just...don't give a fuck about you."

"Aww, you're just difficult," Grace giggled, but then glanced up sharply at him, hearing the break in his words. There seemed to be so much _pain _there...that had been bottled up inside of him for so many years. Now, releasing it at last seemed difficult. The truth was hurting him.

"Casey?" she asked kindly, staring into his eyes. "Are you okay?"

_No. No...I'm not. I haven't been for years. Grace...make me better...look at me...tell me that you want to help me...make me happy to still be alive...make me want to carry on..._

"Yeah," he croaked, pushing the matter aside and turning his head away before she could see the messages of his heart floating around in his damaged eyes. "Sure. I'm okay. Why?"

The girl sighed, wanting to clear her lips of her broken smile. "No reason. Come on. We'd...better get started."

-oOo-

Although Grace had told him of her progress earlier, Casey was both surprised and pleased to discover just how quickly his "student" had caught on to the work. She was doing much better than the previous week, and Casey knew that at this rate then she would pass the module for certain.

_At least I don't feel so useless now, _he smiled to himself, marking more of her answers correct. _If this is working, then maybe I'm finally doing something right for someone. _

Grace peered over his shoulder as he sat there with her question sheet. "Wow. I'm good," she beamed.

For what felt like the sixth time that evening, Casey had wanted to deliberately bash his knee against the table leg as punishment for blushing at that moment. How could he be feeling like this? All he was doing was helping a friend out. How could he act like such an idiot around _friends_?

"You only got two wrong," he managed to murmur out, passing her sheet back to her with a small smile.

"Go me," she laughed, placing it on the coffee table beside her feet. "Better than last week – two _right. _Holy Hell, I _sucked_."

_Stop blushing...stop it, you moron...why do you keep doing this to yourself – it's **fucking stupid! **_Body heat rushed into his face and he felt his fingers twitching against the pencil he was gripping. He let it drop to the floor.

Grace smirked, scooping it up. "Hey, what's up with _you_?"

"J-just tired," Casey lied, brushing the innuendo from his mind and getting to his feet. "Maybe we should take a break...?" It was an almost desperate plea.

"Sure," she smiled, clambering into the nearest chair and sinking into it. "My brain needs a break from all the effort."

"Me too," he replied quickly, placing the sheets onto the table and scuttling onto the couch.

"What for, doofus?" she giggled, rolling her eyes in his direction. "I bet it takes you five minutes to do the stuff I've done in a half hour! _Your_ brain's taking it easy."

_You wanna bet? _The thoughts continued to maul his pride onto the floor over and over again, relishing in the pain and embarrassment that rushed through Casey's mind.

He shrugged clumsily, as if trying to brush the subject off. "Well, at least that gives me more of a chance to help you," he mumbled out, his eyes on the ground.

"True," the girl grinned.

_She's smiling at you..._ Dark voices caused him to grind his teeth together with closed lips, silently praying for them to disappear before he started "talking to himself" again.

_Fuck you. She **always **smiles._

_And you notice this? How much do you fucking watch her, anyway?_

_It's...hard not to..._

_Why's that, pervert?_

_Shut up._

_You like her, just admit it._

_Bullshit! As if I would!_

_What? Admit it?_

_Just **shut the fuck up. **_

_Get over it! You know she'd never like a weak little piece of shit like you. Keep dreaming. It's the same situation with that Profitt bitch. You always want what you can't have._

However much the boy wanted to deny it to himself, he couldn't help but face the truth about what he was thinking. The voices were right...He was no more than a cockroach in Delilah's eyes, and Grace was probably no different. Although she wanted to be friends, some part of Casey still felt that she was befriending him out of pity, because no one else would.

"You okay?" he heard Grace question him loudly, as if this wasn't the first time she had tried to ask him. "I know you get tired of that, but you really don't look good."

Casey snapped his head up. "Huh?"

"What's up?" Grace said kindly, tilting her head to one side, as if trying to view him from a different angle. "You've gone real quiet."

"I-it's nothing...really," Casey stammered out, feeling ill at how fragile his voice sounded. "I just...don't feel that well, all of a sudden...I think I should go back..."

Grace blinked. "What? _Now_?"

"Yeah...you've done great this week...besides, it's getting dark outside..."

"Right," she whispered, cheerfully climbing up from the couch and standing beside him. "I'll guess I'll see you tomorrow at school, then?"

"Yeah, probably." Casey cringed at the word "school". How he _hated _that hellhole. Every week always felt like a lifetime, whereas a weekend – to him – barely felt like ten minutes.

"Don't worry about it," the girl mumbled, as if she could suddenly read his thoughts. "Just look for me. I'll protect you."

"W-wha...?"

He barely had enough time to breathe before her arms were around him again, pulling him close into a friendly hug. Taken aback, Casey returned it, but something inside him still stung from the words she had said.

"_I'll protect you..." _

_Because I'm weak..._

"Sure," he sighed, his heart sinking. "Whatever."

-oOo-

Picking his feet up on the way home seemed like such an effort to Casey. His legs felt as if they weighed a ton each, and besides, even if he _could_ lift them, the will to do so was lost. It was practically scattered on the breeze.

_After everything...**everything...**_ he thought bitterly, _and she **still **thinks I'm a weakling. Is that why she's my friend? She's here to protect me? To be my **bodyguard? **_

He growled into the dusk, kicking a lone stone into the gravelled street. "Fuck that."

_That's the last thing I need. A girl looking out for me. _

_Told you, _the voices taunted. _She feels sorry for the poor, weak little nobody. The one with no friends. It's like adopting one of those abandoned animals at the shelter that no one wants. _

Casey didn't feel as if he had enough dignity to respond. After all, he was thinking the same thing. Why deny it?

_I'll just be glad to get home and hide in my room until tomorrow, _he told himself, wishing the taste of bile would escape from his mouth. _Perhaps then I can hide it out until it feels better. _

It was around nine o'clock by the time he managed to reach his front door. The neighbourhood felt strangely quiet, which was unusual for him. There was often some house blasting loud rock music through the ceiling or a rabid dog barking its lungs out.

He didn't appreciate the change. It gave him a bad feeling.

Frowning to himself, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It was quiet in the house, too. He could hear the faint muffle of the news reporter on the television, but it sounded as if there was no one else home.

_Did they go out? _he wondered, feeling very confused. _Why didn't they let me know? And if they did, why'd they leave the T.V on? No way would Dad ever waste power like this..._

"I'm home," he called out, to see if anyone would answer. No one did.

However, all suspicions were erased as he stepped into the living room. He saw his parents seated on the couch, staring blindly at the television. Casey got the strange impression that they weren't even paying attention to it. The lights were dimmed, casting cold shadows across the ceiling and floor. They didn't seem to notice that they were practically sitting in darkness.

"I'm back," he announced. They didn't even look up.

_What the fuck? Why...are they ignoring me? Am I invisible or something? _

He cast his gaze across to his mother, who was curled up in the seat furthest away from her son. Her head was in her hand as she stared absent-mindedly at the screen, chewing violently on her lip. She looked as if she had been crying. Her eyes were swollen from previous tears.

Casey felt his stomach churn. "Mom? What's wrong?"

She didn't move.

_Someone...anyone...talk to me – say **something! **Don't just sit there like I've fucking **died **or something! **Talk to me! **_

"Dad?" he asked, a little louder this time. "What's going on?"

_Did they have a fight, or something? _Casey wondered, hoping they hadn't. _Why the hell isn't anyone saying anything? _

He almost jumped a foot into the air when Frank seemed to come to life. He arose coolly to his feet, striding over towards his son. His dark eyes seemed cold; distant...and yet brimming with a spark of fresh anger.

Casey felt himself backing off a little, although he wasn't sure why. He had never been given much appreciation by his father, yet here he was, moving away, thinking he was going to be struck.

_Would Dad really hit me? _he thought madly, as his father came closer, his jaw tightly set. _Well – **shit! **What did I even **do **anyway! _

"Dad –"

"Give me your arm." It was an order, but yet it sounded very threatening. It sounded as if Frank's vocal cords had suddenly been turned to steel.

Casey felt himself go cold and then white-hot all at once. _What the fuck? What for – is he gonna **break **my arm? _

"Dad, what the –?"

Without another word, Frank lunged at him, grabbing at his good arm with a strong grip and yanking it towards him, practically pulling the confused boy over onto his face.

"Show me your Goddamn arm, _now_!"

"Dad – hey!" Casey cried out, his voice breaking a little as he struggled to release himself from the sudden robot his father seemed to have transformed into. "Let me g – **_Ow_! **Dad – _stop it...**you're hurting me**_!"

"Frank!" Lorraine's teary warning reached Casey's ears. It was faint to him, as if it were coming from a thousand miles away and it would be of no use.

Then a horrible crushing feeling came alive in his chest and his head felt lighter as he felt the sleeve of his jacket being pulled back, revealing the pale skin beneath the material.

_And _the scar from the cut.

_**Shit. **_

He stared at it, for what must have felt like an eternity. No one moved, nor said anything. Casey still felt the whole scene sinking in, as if he were imagining this was nothing more than a mere dream – a _horrible_ dream – which he would wake up from at any given second.

"Dad..." he started, his heart pounding in his chest at the discovery. "Dad, I –"

"Did _you _do this?" Frank's voice had returned to the calm, metallic tone he had first greeted his son with. It held anger, shock, and was tinted with disappointment.

Casey froze. He couldn't tell them that! How could he tell them that he had inflicted injury on himself, just to make the problems go away? It hadn't worked, but they were never meant to find out! _Never_! He had never prepared himself for this...for _this..._

"Dad..."

"Answer the question, son," his father snapped, his grip becoming firmer.

Out of the corner of his eye, Casey noticed that his mother had buried her head in her hands; shielding her face. The teenager wasn't sure if she had done so to avoid watching the conflict happening in her house, or because at that moment she had promptly begun to cry once more.

_What should I say...? _Casey thought wildly, feeling his shoulders begin to tremble as he stared into Frank's demanding scowl. _What the **fuck **should I say...?_

The silence was almost deafening to him. The slight _sniff _coming from his mother was the only sound, aside from the crackling of the television. The lights dimmed all the more, throwing himself into shadow.

_Grace...what should I do...? What should I say...?_

_What the **fuck **do I do...!_

"...Yeah," he found himself whispering, in a broken voice. "Yeah...I did."


	12. Confronted

**Disclaimer:** All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films.

-oOo-

**Chapter 12 – Confronted**

At first, there was silence. At least, what _felt _like silence to Casey. The television still had its blaring news reporter informing others of stories that fell on deaf ears, and Casey could still hear the various dogs barking outside in the cold dark.

However, all of that didn't seem to exist in Casey's mind. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart and the tension in the room growing louder. His parents' eyes fixed onto him and ran him through, like lasers on a gun.

"Oh...Casey..." Lorraine finally whispered, crunching up one of her many tissues in her trembling fist. More tears formed behind her eyes – questioning ones.

The boy didn't know what to say. She sounded so...so _disappointed, _as if she were harbouring a house for a stranger on the street, and had just discovered he was a fugitive. He _felt _like a criminal, the way that his mother was shaking her head in shame, and his father's grip on his arm was increasing and becoming more painful.

_How did they even find out I did it, anyway? _he wondered, staring down at the floor, still continuing to pray for that black hole that was about six years too late. _I never told them. Hell, that was the **last **thing they were supposed to know about. _

"How did you –?"

"Your mother was cleaning out your room today," Frank said coldly, answering his son's question before he could even finish. "She said she found _this _under your bed." He produced the blade from the pencil sharpener and the tissue, spotted with crimson blood.

_What the hell was Mom doing cleaning out my room? _Casey thought wildly, feeling a warm wave of anger sweep through his body for a second. _I can clean my own **fucking **room – it wasn't even messy, anyway! Doesn't she understand that I have a right to privacy? I mean, I'm a **teenager, **for fuck's sake..._

He hoped that his parents weren't able to notice the small blush blotting his cheeks in the dim light as he secretly wished his mother hadn't discovered those magazines under his bed as well. He had a feeling that that would turn out a lot _worse _than this situation.

"We wondered why you'd been wearing a jacket in this kind of weather," Frank spoke again, a triumphant gleam in his words.

_How long have they known? _wondered Casey, unable to look at them. _Have they known as long ago as when it happened? Or did they just find out tonight...? Is that why they just sat here? And waited?_

He couldn't find his voice. It was as if the words we clogged at the back of his throat, and he couldn't breathe, or think. Everything in the room was spinning. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop staring at his mother's tear-streaked face and his father's icy glare.

_I've let them down...again..._ he thought sadly. _**Look **at them...they're wondering how in the hell they managed to get such a fucked up son. _

"I'm sorry..." he found himself whispering, although he wasn't exactly sure what he was apologising for. After all, wasn't it because of _them _that he cut himself in the first place? Shouldn't _they _apologise for what _they _said to make him do this?

"Sorry?" Frank growled, forcefully letting his son's arm drop to his side, as if he was too disgusted to even touch him anymore. "You're _sorry_, now?"

"Frank..." came Lorraine's quiet voice from across the room, in a warning tone. She seemed cautious to upset her son any further than he already was. Perhaps she thought that he would harm himself again if things got ugly.

Casey didn't know where to look, so instead he gazed at his sneaker laces. "Dad..."

"Why did you do it?" his father interrupted, although his words didn't sound any friendlier. It sounded more like an interrogation again; something his father seemed to be very good at. "I just want to know why, son."

_Why? **Why? **If I answer that, I'll be here all fucking night, _thought Casey, with loathing. _How he can just stand there and make me feel like it's all my fault, when if it wasn't for him it wouldn't have happened! _

"I...I don't know..." he mumbled, feeling a desirable urge to dash to his bedroom and hide beneath the covers. "I just –"

"You must have done it for a _reason_!" his father barked, his brown eyes flashing. The whole room seemed to grow darker and more dangerous. "No one _cuts _themselves for _fun_!"

_It **wasn't **fun, _thought Casey unhappily. _It fucking hurt. But what hurt more, Dad, were the things you said about me. I realised that that tiny slice of pain could never replace the pain of the words I heard you say. That's why I didn't do it again. There'd be no point. _

There was nothing Casey wanted more in the world than to say to his father those exact words at that moment. He wanted to tell him how he had been feeling...all of the pain he had felt...how he had been hurting and was unable to tell _anyone..._

...but he couldn't. He knew _just _what his father would say if he told him that:

"_...Affected this much by a few words? Jesus, Case, I expected **more **from you than that...!"_

"_...You always have to be so Goddamn dramatic..."_

"_...I thought you were stronger than this, son...I thought you could stand up for yourself..."_

_He'd call me weak again, _Casey thought sadly. _He won't listen to me at all. He'll just insult me all the more and make me feel even worse. There's no point telling him **why **I did it. He wouldn't understand anyway. _

"Just tell us, Casey," his mother croaked from the couch, finally speaking up in desperation from the silence. "If there's something bothering you, you should let us know. We can help you."

_Like fuck you can, _the boy thought bitterly. _If you could help, you would have done so years ago. But you can't help me. Not now._

"I-it doesn't matter," Casey said softly, still not looking at them. "I'm not going to do it again. Just forget it –"

"Is it school?" his mother broke in, a stroke of realisation in her tone. "Is it about what happened with your wrist?"

Casey frowned to himself. _What the hell? **No. **What the fuck does it have to do with that? Why would I hurt myself when I already got hurt? That makes no sense! _

"No," he said sharply.

Lorraine chewed on her lip again. Casey was amazed that she even had any lips left, with all the aggravation she had been giving them in the last hour. "I was right, wasn't I?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling. "When I called you at the hospital...it's those bullies at school again, isn't it? You're harming yourself because of them..."

"No!" Casey cried, cutting his mother off, staring directly into her face. "No, Mom! I already _told _you, it's got _nothing _to do with –!"

"You never fell down the bleachers, did you?" his mother sighed, her voice sympathetic and almost babysitter-like. "It was those boys at school, beating you up again, wasn't it? That's how your wrist –"

"_Mom_!" Casey whined, hoping he didn't sound as helpless as he felt. "Will you just _listen _to me?! I _did _fall –!"

"I can't believe this is happening," Lorraine whispered to herself, reaching into her handbag for yet another tissue, shaking her head all the while. "I just can't believe it...I never thought it was this bad – I never knew it would come to mutilation as an answer for this..."

Casey felt blood rush into his throat at the mention of the word "mutilation". _Aren't they taking this a little too far? _he secretly wondered. _Mutilation? It was one cut, one that's never going to happen again...why are they treating me as if I've lopped off a leg or something?_

"It's not a way to _deal _with them," Casey snapped, becoming cross with the ignorance. "I'm not _depressed, _or anything...Mom –"

"Perhaps you should talk to someone about it," his mother cut in, getting to her feet with a newfound awareness, heading towards the house telephone. "Like...a professional, you know...they could _help _you –"

"I don't _need _help!" Casey found himself screaming, halting Lorraine in her tracks. "I don't need _anything_! Why is that always your answer for _everything_?! Therapy _won't _help me, Mom – I don't _need _it!"

He was rather surprised at how frightened he sounded. But he _felt _afraid. He didn't want to be treated like this by his family, as if he needed to be in a psychiatric hospital or something. He wasn't crazy – he wasn't _anything_!

"I think you do," Lorraine spoke up, her own voice quivering and growing louder. "You sound hysterical...really upset. I'm just trying to _help _you..."

"Not like _this_!" Casey cried, clenching his fists at his sides from the injustice of it all. "I don't need a stranger talking to me all the time...I want you and _Dad _to talk to me about stuff! _That_ would help me a lot more than some crappy shrink!"

His parents stared in shock at him for a very long time, wondering what had gotten into their son. In fact, they were gawping at him as if they had no idea who he was. It wasn't like Casey to yell at his mother like this. They exchanged glances, as if planning as to who should speak next.

Instead, Casey chose to. "Look," he sighed, making his way towards the doorway. "I don't need to see a professional, okay? I just need to be alone –"

"You're not going anywhere," Frank snapped, stepping closer. "Not yet."

Casey blinked at him, wondering what else he wanted to hear.

"You still haven't told us why you did it."

The boy could have bubbled over with rage. _Haven't they figured it out **yet? **I'm so tired of their smothering, and their constant need for perfection! If something – one tiny thing – goes wrong with me, it's as if they treat me as if I'm **broken! **So they hire therapy. To **fix **me. They can't stand me being anything but perfect in their eyes! _

"You want to know _why_?" he almost yelled, much to his own amazement. "I heard you the other week! Talking downstairs, after we came back from the hospital! Saying just how messed up I was, and how you want me to be _different_! And –"

His voice caught in his web of tears, building up behind his eyes and burning there. No. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to cry when he was trying to show them that he _could _stand up to them. But yet...he couldn't stop the tears. They were reflected in his throat.

He saw Lorraine turn her head away out of the corner of his eye, as if she had just remembered what she and her husband _had _said that night.

"_That's _why," Casey choked. "You don't want me as I am...you want to change me...you _hate _me –"

"Oh, Casey..." Lorraine sighed, in a sugary-sweet voice, slumping back into her couch again as if her ankles had just given way. "Oh, honey...we don't _hate _you. We just want you to be _happy._"

_They want me to be perfect, she means, _he thought sadly. _They want me to be perfect and happy, and living in a sunshine-rainbow fairytale. The world's not like that, Mom. It's fucked up and filthy. It's messed up, and I've been lost in it all these years. You just don't give a shit – you just make-believe that everything's okay!_

"I'm _not _happy," he whispered out, clenching his fingers firmly around the side of the banister.

"Well, this _isn't _the way out," Frank said firmly. "If you're upset, you should talk to us –"

"You wouldn't _listen_!" Casey yelled, the tears growing all the more, threatening to spill down his cheeks. "You never _do_! You'd just look at me like I'm _scum_! You'd just want me to be perfect – you'd be _ashamed _of me!"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I _do _feel ashamed that you wouldn't come to us!" Frank shouted; half in shock, half in revenge. "I would have expected that from you! You shouldn't be suffering in silence, just because you're _afraid_! You shouldn't be afraid of your parents, Case!"

_I am, _Casey thought to himself, with a low moan. _I'm afraid of you, Dad. I'm afraid you don't want me. I'm afraid...you don't love me. _

"I just wish you weren't so _scared, _all the time!" continued his father, on a roll with his point. "You don't seem to want to _try _anything, son – because you always seem _afraid _to try! It just...drives me _nuts _that you don't want to sign up for any sports or social activities –!"

"I'm –!" Casey protested wildly, trying to scream to his father that he took photographs for the school newspaper. Wasn't that a social activity? Or didn't that one count? However, he was cut short before he could get his words through.

"You just come off as very anti-social to me," declared his father, his voice lowered and sounding incredibly stern, as if demanding respect. "I mean, you _don't _stay out very late, you're _always _locked away in your room, you don't visit friend's houses very m –"

"I've been seeing Grace, remember?" Casey almost screamed. The tears were beginning to rise deeper into his throat and higher behind his lids, causing them to throb and burn. Nothing that his father seemed to be saying was very fair.

_What else does he want me to do? I don't have that many friends anyway...before Grace came along, I couldn't talk to anyone! And now he's giving me this? I don't get it! _His thoughts were like a stampede of despair, raining down and trampling his happiness again and again and again.

"Yes, but she's the only one," said Frank calmly, crossing his arms across his chest, almost like a shield. "That's what I _mean. _Perhaps if you joined a club or something you'd make lots of _new _friends. Like that Stan guy who's often on the field, I suppose _he..._"

It was at this point that Casey selected to stop listening to what his father had to say about _Stan. _Stan Rosado: typical meat-headed jock who was loved by all and respected by parents. He was the kind of guy who Casey knew – just _knew _– his father wanted him to be like. Sometimes, Casey wondered that if his father had full control over his own son, he would craft the boy into something very similar to Stan Rosado.

It didn't help that he had managed to catch Delilah's eye, either.

_Fucking jerk. _

"...But that's what I'm trying to _tell _you, Casey!" his father continued, as Casey chose reluctantly to zone back into the conversation again, "your mother and I hardly _see _you, most days! You leave for school; you come _straight _home, and hide away in your room all by yourself –"

"I have homework," mumbled Casey, somewhat cheekily.

"Well," Frank scoffed, rolling his eyes to bore his enraged face into a nearby wall. "We all know that's not the _only _thing you do in there now, don't we?"

Biting his lip, the teenager was doing all that he could to hold back the burning sensations in his eyes and mouth. After all of this, his father was trying to make him feel _guilty _for what he had done. Wasn't this all of _his _fault? He wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for _him! _What right did _he _have to make him feel so small?

"It was just the one time..." he said again.

"I'd just _appreciate _it if you thought to spend some time with your mother and I," said Frank coldly, gesturing towards Lorraine, slumped on the couch, still with her head in her hands. "You seem...like a _hermit _to us, son. We always have to speak to you first, otherwise the only time when we see you is when there's food on the table –"

"But when I want to talk to you, you never _listen_!" Casey cried out, unable to hide his feelings away from himself much longer. He wanted to smack himself when he felt a pent-up tear squeeze itself from the corner of his eye and singe its way down his cheek. "You never..."

_You never tell me you're proud of what I do, **never, **_he thought sadly. _I don't do drugs, I don't drink, I don't smoke...I always do my homework and get good grades...and he doesn't praise me for it. Not **once. **I try so...so **hard **for him...and he doesn't give a shit..._

"What else do you want from me?" he questioned quietly, hurriedly staring down so that his father wouldn't notice the misery pouring from his eyes.

"I want you to learn to deal with these kind of things in the _right _way," said his father, after a short silence. "Whatever the problem...this isn't the right way. I wish you'd be a little stronger in the way you deal with your problems. Everyone else has to."

_I knew it, _Casey thought, wanting to slam his fist against the banister from the unfairness. _I knew he'd say that...I knew it..._

"Everyone's a little weak sometimes," he choked out, remembering Grace's advice; the one thing that only seemed to stay in his mind nowadays. "...Even _you, _Dad."

Then he dashed upstairs before his father could reply.

-oOo-

Casey could hear his mother screaming tearfully at Frank through the floor and through the sounds of his own misery, flowing out in frustrated sobs as he slumped against his locked door, his chest tight and painful.

"Fuck him," he growled into his jeans, soaking them with his tears.

His body curled into a tight ball, some part of him swore to never open the door again as long as he lived. He didn't feel like eating. He didn't feel like talking to anyone – no one would listen. All he wanted to do was to hide here and protect himself. He couldn't get hurt in here. If he went outside, he was alone. He was _always _alone.

_I'm so tired of being alone..._

But – sadly – some part of him knew that he could never be hurt when he was alone. No one could hurt him. He was safe. Lonely, but safe.

Minutes later, once he had heard the shouting calming down from below, soft footsteps sounded on the hall carpet and a timid rapping at his door followed.

"Casey?" Lorraine's voice; quiet and sniffly. "Honey? Are you in there?"

The boy chose not to answer. How could talking make it all right? Too much had been said already. Too much had happened. Only avoidance could solve things for now. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to be alone, where not even words could hurt him.

He covered up the mark on his arm with his sleeve and turned away, more tears burning.

"Honey? Casey...you know you can talk to _me..._" Lorraine continued, in a dangerously calm voice. It sounded like she was dealing with a patient in an insane asylum. "I can help you...I can talk to you and make everything all right again –"

"Go away, Mom," Casey croaked, crying even harder. "I don't need any help."

"But, Honey –"

"You'll just make things worse."

A silence. Casey chewed fervently on his lip and begged with all of his might for his mother to disappear so that he could have his cry in peace, and then be left alone. Alone forever. However, he knew that that was too good a request to come true, and it wasn't long before she was tapping coyly on the door again.

"Casey...sweetheart..." she whispered, sounding ready to explode into another bout of tears. Her words trembled on her tongue. "Please...while you're in there...please, don't do anything stupid..."

_Oh, Jesus **Christ...**_

If it were humanly possible, Casey swore that he would scream so loud the entire sky would crack and shatter into a million pieces. After all of this, after everything he had said downstairs, she _still _wasn't listening.

He placed his head against the door and held his shaking body close. "I won't," he snapped.

"Unlock the door, Casey, _please,_" she begged. "Let me talk to you –"

"It doesn't help!" Casey argued back, shouting now, showing her how much pain he was bottling up...how _angry _he felt at their blindness. How _dare _she stand there and act like nothing downstairs had even happened! How _dare _she suggest talking now, when she couldn't even say two words downstairs!

"Casey..."

"_Nothing _helps!" Casey cried out, moving away from the bedroom door and collapsing on his bed, screaming into his pillow as he hid himself even further away. "Leave me alone!"

And then he hoped that that would be the end of it. He wanted his mother to walk away from him with her tail between her legs, understanding that the fate of her son was to be in isolation for the rest of his life. He was expecting silence and for her to return to the living room with that bastard.

He didn't expect her to slam her palm against the door in frustration, causing it to shudder and rub violently against the brim of his carpet.

"Fine, then," she spat, in an extremely cold tone. "Fine! I give up! I give up with all of this! You're just being _pathetic, _Casey! Pathetic and selfish! Just like _him_! If you don't want to talk to me, then stay there! I'll be ready to talk to you when you've grown up!"

And then she left, her footsteps clomping viciously down the stairs. Each one thudded loudly in Casey's ribcage.

He squeezed the pillowcase tightly between his fingers as more tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

"Fuck you, Mom," he squeaked out.

_That's telling 'em, _his thoughts taunted.

"Fuck you, too," Casey growled, verging on a scream.

_How long can you keep using that comeback? It can't last forever. This won't go away, just by saying that. _

Casey moaned under his breath, shedding more unwanted tears into the pillow. _Then how **do **I make it go away? _he wondered miserably. _What can I say to make it go away? Who will listen to what I have to say? Who...will...?_

Without giving it another thought, he scrambled madly from the bed and lunged for his phone on the side table, clumsily pounding a number into the machine and holding it to his ear, tapping his fingers on his knee.

"Pick up, pick up," he chanted, blood shedding from his lip. "Be home..."

It didn't take very long before he got a reply. The receiver clicked and he heard her cheery voice come streaming down the line, sounding disgustingly pleasant and bright.

"_Hello?_"

It was so wearisome to find out that he couldn't speak. He couldn't utter a word without feeling the presence of more tears forming or sobs bouncing around in his voice. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.

"_...Uh, hello?_"

His hand trembled. His brain was screaming at him.

_Say something, you dork! Say something to her! Tell her what's happened! Say something – say **anything! **_

"_...Is this a prank?_" Her voice grew a little more threatening.

He hung up.

Then he growled in frustration, kicking the bottom of his chair, allowing the fresh tears to come racing down as he pummelled his pillow and allowed his senses to roar loudly back at him, punishing him with humiliation and hot rushes of guilt. Why, why, _why _did he hang up?

_She's the only one I can talk to, and I fucking hung up on her! _

It seemed like forever had passed as he sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm himself down, when his phone beamed and rang loudly. He jumped in surprise and grabbed it quickly, answering it without thinking about the condition of his voice this time.

"...Hello?" he whispered.

"_Casey?_" Grace replied, with a hint of playful teasing hovering in her words. "_Why'd you hang up on me? Where you prank calling me or something?_"

"...No," the boy croaked, wanting to hit himself at how upset he sounded.

There was a short silence.

"_Casey? What's wrong...?_"

"Um..."

He had no idea where to begin. He wanted to tell her everything, and yet nothing at all if he could help it. He didn't know how to start. His father and his hurtful lecture, his mother's tears, his own pain, those inner demons that kept haunting him...or what about...?

"_Are you okay?_" Grace seemed worried now, all the mischievous element of her voice washed away by a wave of her own concern. "_You...haven't been crying, have you –?_"

"What if I have?" Casey said coldly.

He heard her sigh sadly. "_W-why? Casey, what's the matter?_"

"It's just..." he choked out, squeezing his bright eyes tightly shut at the comfort she was offering over the phone. For some reason, right now, he wanted her here so that he could talk to her face to face. He wanted her here so that he could perhaps find some solace in a hug rather than a stupid phone call.

"_Yeah?_"

"...My parents," he decided to finish.

"_What have they done?_" she asked helpfully; calmly. "_Have they said anything to you?_"

"They just...said some things..." he mumbled, feeling a little silly now. He didn't plan on telling her what they had said. He never wanted to think about or repeat what they had said ever again. It was too painful. And besides, he wasn't sure whether Grace would completely understand how he felt just from those words. Not _completely._

"_Must've been pretty bad..._" she said quietly, sighing again.

"...Yeah."

"..._You can tell me what they said, y'know...I won't laugh or judge you – or **anything. **Promise._"

Casey bit his lip, boring his sight into the wall. "...I don't wanna say, really," he stumbled out, awkwardly. "I don't really wanna think about it."

"_C'mon, there must be something you can tell me,_" she said sweetly, her voice melting like brown sugar down the line and humming in Casey's ear. "_Please, Casey? I thought we could talk about stuff like this with each other –_"

"–We can!" Casey cut in desperately, not wanting her feel hurt. "It's just...well...ummm. I kinda..._did _something, and they found out...and said some stuff, that's all...nothing mu –"

"_What did you **do**?_" Grace asked now, with relish. "_Were you taking drugs or something?_"

Casey closed his eyes, willing away more tears. Her eagerness and excited voice wasn't exactly encouraging him right now. In fact, it only seemed to make him feel bitter and worse than he already did. Part of him wondered why he decided to call her in the first place.

"No," he said. "I'd never take drugs."

"_Then what, hmm?_" she asked now, serious again. "_You have to give me **some **sort of a hint, or I'll be here all night! Besides, you know I'll find out eventually, one way or the other. You might as well just tell_ –"

"I cut myself," he blurted out, barely a whisper.

He gripped the receiver tighter between his fingers at the deadly silence that followed. He realised that he was shaking all over; not from fright, but from desperation. He wasn't even aware that he had even told her until her voice returned, sounding horrified.

"_You...you **what**?_"

Casey sighed. "...It just happened –"

"_You cut yourself?_" she almost snapped, her voice trembling. "_When? Where?_"

"A couple of weeks ago," Casey said calmly. "On the wrist –"

"_What the **fuck**?!_" Grace almost screamed, tears threatening and sounding in Casey's ears. He winced at the sound and for a second felt pathetic and stupid. _"The fuck – you tried to kill yourself?!_"

"No!" Casey cried out defensively. "No! It's not like that!"

"_Why did you cut yourself?_" she asked later, in a much calmer voice. However, the ice had not melted from her words and was in a full state of seriousness. "_Did you want to kill yourself?_" She sounded sad.

"No," Casey said slowly. "I just...didn't know what else to do. I mean, it says in those magazines all the time that it helps –"

"_Those are bullshit_!" she hissed out, sounding as if she had just burst into tears. "_You shouldn't look to a magazine for help! Why didn't you talk to me – why didn't you just pick up the phone and talk?_"

Casey chewed on his lip, reminiscing that night once again. "It was just after I came back from the hospital, remember?" he whispered. "I didn't know you that well...and it just...happened when I got home..."

"_I would have still listened..._" she replied back, sounding hurt now. "_I would have helped..._"

"Yeah...maybe," Casey answered now, flopping down onto his bed and burying his face into the pillow. He felt like kicking himself for not thinking about that earlier. Sure, he hadn't been all that fond of Grace at the time, but it sounded like a much better idea now that he thought about it. It would have saved him from all of this grief tonight.

"_I just...can't believe you've been hiding it all this time..._" she whispered. "_All that time I was talking to you...and you were talking about your parents..._"

"It's over with now," the boy said quickly.

"_Then why'd you call me_?"

"I..." Casey began, but found that he couldn't finish his sentence. Why _did _he call her? To tell her that he cut himself? No, wait...it was because of the things that his parents said to him. He felt that he had to tell someone, and Grace was the only person he could think of that would listen.

Then...she was right. Why _didn't _he call her all that time ago?

"_Are you okay_?" she asked softly, sometime later. Her voice was rather distant. Casey wondered if he had somehow managed to hurt her feelings.

"I...guess," he muttered.

A pause. "_Casey –"_

"Look," Casey breathed out, noticing how late that it was and wiping his eyes stiffly on the back of his hand, feeling them throb and burn. "I'll...tell you later tomorrow. At school. Okay?"

"_...Yeah. Sure._" Her voice still kept that same, faraway sound.

Casey felt cold just listening to it, and it was still echoing around inside of him, freezing over his bones with waves of guilt as he hung up and managed to climb into bed. He wondered if he felt any better or worse than when he had had before he decided to call Grace. He just felt numb right now. Numb and cold.

But at least he had gotten his therapy after all.


End file.
